


The Long Journey to the Long Second Life of Beau Swan

by Trixie999



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: But I proof read myself, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Mike Newton, Forests, M/M, Mentioned Volturi, Mind Reading, Mutual Pining, No Beta- we die like vampires, One-Sided Attraction, Precognition, Psychic Abilities, Rain, Slow Burn, Twilight Series Rewrite, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixie999/pseuds/Trixie999
Summary: Of about three things I was absolutely positive.First, Edward was a vampire.Second, there was a part of him - and I don't know how dominant that part might be - that thirsted for my blood.And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *Gay Twilight rewrite, pretty close to the original, but with added gayness, and a few things changed here and there to make things smoother and more entertaining. I do not own Twilight, that is all Stephenie Meyer. I only take credit for the things I added to make it gay.THIS WORK IS TEMPORARILY ON HOLD AS A RESULT OF THE AUTHOR DIRECTING ATTENTION TO ANOTHER SERIES. I'm focusing on a different work at the moment, as I have fallen out of my Twilight kick and am not all that interested in the fandom at the moment, I do have plans to come and finish this fic in the future.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Beau Swan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 54





	1. Preface/First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! It’s your favorite inconsistent poster Trixie! I waited to post until after I had more than one chapter finished. I wouldn’t expect a schedule, but I’m really trying on this one. I love Twilight, and when Life and Death came out in 2015 it was a dream come true, a male Bella? Hell yeah! It was still a heterosexual pairing but It was more than enough for me, and I sometimes find myself liking L&D more than OG Twilight. When it came out I was so excited for some great gay rewrites to be written feauturing Beau/Edward, and Beau/Jacob. Unfortunately, these fics are few and far between, and while I have read and enjoyed a few, I realised that in order to be truly satisfied, I needed to write one for myself. And voila! Here it is. Now a few notes, this is a rewrite of Twilight specifically, meaning that the only gender swapped main character is Beau, everyone else is as they are in the OG Twilight. This takes place in 2005, but I don’t plan on placing a huge emphasis on homophobia. I like to think that Beau’s status as the Sheriff's son, who also happens to be a well respected man of Forks, offers him a layer of protection. There are a few plot points that I added, mainly all the gay stuff, and a few things I didn’t like from the original novel. I also upped the rating to M and have added curse words and explicit thoughts/dialogue. 
> 
> The majority of the writing in this fanfiction is the work of Stephanie Meyer. The characters and overarching plot are all hers. I am only responsible for the changing of names and pronouns where needed, adding/removing and changing some things here and there to make it flow better, and of course all the gay stuff that was necessary to make the story make sense. Bottom line, I own nothing except for the gay stuff and slightly altered things scattered about.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’d never given much thought to how I would die — though I’d had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.  
I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and _he_ looked pleasantly back at me.  
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, somebody I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.  
I knew that if I’d never gone to forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.  
The hunter smiled in a lustful way as he sauntered forward to kill me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — black, with an illustration of a Monty Python sketch on the front, the one with the swallows and the coconut that Mom got me two Christmases ago. It was an acquired taste. It didn’t really matter that it was my favorite shirt, I wouldn’t be wearing it much longer. T-shirts had no place where I was headed, especially not in January. I was wearing it as a farewell gesture, my carry-on item was a hoodie.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near constant cover of clouds. It rains on this tiny, insignificant town more than any place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade of gray that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I’d been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I’d finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

California seemed like a much more appropriate place for me to be moving to. It’s one of the most liberal states in the country, and while I had never been remotely politically involved, I appreciated this fact for one reason. I am a gay seventeen year old, and California has one of the highest populations of LGBT people in the country. Small towns in Washington were on the opposite end of that spectrum, but seeing as my dad was the Sheriff to the good people of Forks, I thought I would carry around a certain level of protection and warning by having a police chief for a father. To be perfectly honest, I’m fine with not living on the golden coast with all the other gays.

I wasn’t like most gays my age, or any age for that matter. I wasn’t overly flamboyant, or sassy or even boy crazy. Basically, I wasn’t a walking stereotype. I simply noticed that the scarce few times I did hold feelings for someone, they always were other males. My parents were both unphased by this. Neither were religious at all, my mother would love me no matter what, of this I have no doubt. As for Charlie, he’s never been super involved or demanding, as long as I’m safe and happy, he’s pleased. I came out when I was in middle school, after I watched an episode of WWF Monday Night Raw when I was channel surfing one night. Seeing those muscular men roll around on top of one another in tight little spandex, I got way too excited for someone who just appreciated the sport. After searching a little more, I realized that I was solely attracted to other males. The kids at school didn’t react as well as Mom and Charlie. Some whispered and pointed, others sneered and looked away, a few actually came up to me and asked me out, I wasn’t the only gay kid in my school but...still. I had no idea that other boys actually found me attractive. I didn’t love the new attention, but I didn’t hate it either. At least I knew that if I wanted to I could probably get someone to go out with me.

Living in a city like Los Angeles or San Diego, where there’s a certain expectation placed on its residents. A certain role that needs to be filled, I knew I would feel out of place, like I was a poser, or wasn’t ‘gay enough.’ And for that reason I never even entertained the idea of actually living there. Anyways, back to what felt like my last ride, because it was to Forks, and not Los Angeles, that I now exiled myself - an action I took with great horror. I despised Forks. I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. No one really cared that I was gay here, they didn’t expect me to act a certain way in order to fit their perception of gay people either.

“Beau,” my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. “You don’t have to do this.”  
My mom looks like me, except with longer hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, hare-brained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would be paid on time, there would be gas in her car and food in the refrigerator, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…  
“I want to go,” I lied. I’d always been a bad liar, but I’d been saying this lie so frequently lately that It sounded very convincing now.  
“Tell Charlie I said hi.’  
“I will.”  
“I’ll see you soon,” she insisted. “You can come back home whenever you want — I’ll come right back as soon as you need me.”  
But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. “Don’t worry about me,” I urged. “It’ll be great. I love you.”

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got onto the plane, and she was gone.

It’s a four hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour long flight in a tiny airplane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour car ride over to Forks. Flying doesn’t bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little nervous about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He’d already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie, and not because of the whole ‘I like men’ thing. Rather, it was because neither of us was what anyone would call a social butterfly, and I didn’t know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision - like my mother before me, I had made no secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn’t see it as an omen, just unavoidable. I’d already said farewell to the sun.  
Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie gave me an awkward but warm hug when I stumbled my way into the terminal.

“It’s good to see you Beau,” he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renee?”  
“Mom’s fine. It’s good to see you too Dad.” I wasn’t allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

I only had a few bags, Most of my Arizona wardrobe was too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter clothes, but it was still scanty. It all easily fit into the trunk of the cruiser.

“I found a good car for you, really cheap,” he announced when we were buckled in.  
“What kind of car?” I was suspicious of the way he said ‘good car for you’ as opposed to just ‘good car.’  
“Well it’s a truck actually, a Chevy.”  
“Where did you find it?”  
“Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?” La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.  
“Not really.”  
“He used to go fishing with us during the summer,” Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I couldn’t remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful and unnecessary things from my memory.

“He’s in a wheelchair now,” Charlie continued when I failed to respond, “so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap when he found out I was looking for one for you.”  
“What year is it?” I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn’t ask.  
“Well, Billy’s done a lot of work on the engine — it’s only a few years old actually.”

I hoped he didn’t think so little of me as to believe that I would give up that easily. “What year did he buy it?”

“He bought it in 1984 I think.”  
“Did he buy it new?”  
“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — late fifties at the earliest,” he admitted sheepishly.  
“Ch- Dad, I’m not like most guys, I know next to nothing about cars. I wouldn’t be able to fix it if something went wrong, and I can’t afford a mechanic….”  
“Really son, the thing runs great. They don’t build ‘em like that anymore.”

The Thing, I thought to myself. It had potential as a nickname at the very least.

“How cheap is cheap?” After all, that was the part I couldn’t compromise on.  
“Well bud, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” Charlie peeked at me sideways with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. I was going to try and get a car for myself.”  
“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn’t super comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking out the passenger side window as I responded.  
“That’s really nice Dad, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn’t need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a gift truck in the mouth — or rather, the engine.

“Well, now, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, embarrassed by my gratitude.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.  
It was beautiful of course; Even I couldn't deny that. Beautiful and tranquil. Everything was green: The trees, their trunks covered in moss, the leaves hanging down in a canopy of green. The grass and the fern covered ground. Even the light as it filtered down through the leaves appeared green.

It was too green. An alien planet.

Eventually we made it to the house. The same small two-bedroom house that he and my mom purchased together in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kinds of days their marriage had - the early ones.

There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders, and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn’t know if it would run, but I definitely could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that could withstand anything. It was the kind of car you saw at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, the ruins of the foreign car it destroyed scattered in its wake.

“Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!” Now my horrific day tomorrow would be that much less dreadful. I wouldn’t be faced with the choice of either walking two miles to school in the rain, or accepting a ride in the cruiser with Charlie.  
“I’m glad you like it,” Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It only took one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front lawn. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light green walls, the peaked ceiling, the blue lace curtains that hung around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes charlie ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a computer, with the line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so we could keep in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner, sitting next to my medium sized bookshelf.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell on that too much.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn’t hover. He left me alone to get unpacked and settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, nice not to have to force a smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn’t in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about school and the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back in Phoenix. All of the kids here had grown up together, their grandparents had been toddlers together, they probably had never met a gay person before. I would be the new boy from the big city. The gay kid from out of state, a curiosity. A freak. I was sure town gossip had already spread. I’d been here since I came out, and Charlie made sure his circle of friends as well as his co-workers were in the know, I guess to make sure they couldn’t say or do anything offensive when he or I were there.

He assured me that they were good people, and that they respected Charlie. But few can resist gossip as juicy as that. The Sheriff had a fairy for a son. I just hoped that my status as the son of the sheriff would disenchant anyone who had the idea to mess with me. Charlie would for sure go all robocop on them. He could be pretty protective when he wanted to be.  
I wondered if I looked like what a gay teen ‘should’ look like would make things worse, maybe my simplicity would earn me bonus points. Hell, maybe if I looked like I was actually from Phoenix I could work this to my advantage. An athletic guy with brown hair and deep blue eyes, that would charm the pants off of anyone, let alone the people of Forks who rarely see anyone who looks like that. If only I came with the attributes of someone who lived in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, only the slightest tan from my walks to the grocery store — I tended to burn more than anything — and the clumsiness meant I had never even attempted any sports outside of gym class; I didn’t have the hand-eye coordination necessary to play anything, not that I was that interested in playing in the first place, I preferred watching… mostly so I could admire the athletic male bodies.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine bureau, I took my bag of bathroom essentials and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the long day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my knotted, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but I already looked sallower, unhealthy. My hint of tan already faded. My skin could be pretty- it was very clear and smooth, almost translucent looking — a generous person may find it appealing, but I doubted finding anyone like that here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just physically i’d never fit in, it didn’t even boil all the way down to me being gay. I stick out mentally — emotionally too. And if I couldn’t find a niche in a school of three thousand people what were my chances here? I didn’t relate at all to people my age beyond the occasional thought about a naked torso — one without breasts. Frankly I didn't relate well to people period, regardless of age or sexuality. Even my mother, whom I was closer to than anyone else on the planet was never truly in harmony with me, never the exact same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes as she was seeing through hers, or anyone was seeing through their own eyes. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. The cause didn’t matter, all that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would just be the beginning.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn’t fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. I still couldn’t quite fall asleep until after midnight, after three hours of tossing and turning and crying. The rain mercifully settled into a quiet drizzle around then.

Thick fog was all I could see out the window when I woke up that morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping in. You could never see the sky here, it was like a cell.  
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. Coffee for him, O.J. for me and cereal for us both. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Lady luck was not very kind to me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left I stared at the old round oak table and three mismatched chairs that sat around it. I eventually turned to examine the rest of our kitchen, with it’s dark paneled walls and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mother had painted the cabinets a bright yellow eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. I got up to explore the rest of the house, on the mantle above the fireplace in the small adjacent living room was a row of pictures. First a wedding photo of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital shortly after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year’s. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do about getting those taken down, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie never really got over my mom. It made me a little sad.

I didn’t want to be too early to school, but I couldn’t stay in the house any longer. I donned my jacket, which had the feeling of a biohazard suit, and stepped out into the quiet and misty yard. It was drizzling still, not enough to require the use of an umbrella, but enough to annoy me as I reached for the house key hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. I had purchased a pair of rain boots two weeks ago, but I didn’t really want to wear them to school, at least not on the first day, so my converse got pretty wet pretty quickly. I would have to store my Chucks in The Thing for future rainy days, and wait to put them on until after I arrive at school. The sloshing I made as I moved towards my truck was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn’t pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and chilled me.

Inside The Thing, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the upholstery still smelled faintly of peppermint and gasoline — not entirely unpleasant. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw or two. The antique radio worked, a plus I had not expected.  
Finding the school wasn’t difficult. Like everything else, the school was just off the main road. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School clued me in. It looked like a collection of matching two story houses, built with the same maroon colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn’t see its size at first. Where was the feel of an institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences? The metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I suspected that it was off limits, but I decided I would get better directions If I went in and asked for them rather than circle around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty cab of The Thing and walked along a little stone path with dark hedges.

I paused to take a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I’d hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs and a small coffee table, orange flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic and terracotta pots, as if there wasn’t enough greenery outside. The room was sliced in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. Advertisements for clubs such as chess and glee, the schools football schedule, stuff like that. There were three desks situated behind the counter, one of which was manned by a stout woman with red hair and green glasses. She was wearing a plain purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed in my chinos and sweater, at least my shoes were a bit more pedestrian. Pedestrian and soggy.

The red-haired woman looked up. “Can I help you?”  
“I’m Beauregard Swan,” I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light in her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip like I assumed. Gay son of the Chief’s flighty ex-wife, come home at last.  
“Of course,” she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. “I have your schedule right here. As well as a map of the school.”

She brought several sheets to the counter to show me. She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each class in a different color on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars here were older like mine, nothing flashy. In Phoenix we lived in one of the fewer lower-income neighborhoods that came with the Paradise Valley District. It was common to see a new Porsche or Mercedes in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn’t draw too much attention.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn’t have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything into my backpack, slung the straps over my shoulders, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn’t stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black “3” was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping towards hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the threshold.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn’t stand out here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response, and hopefully not because of the whole gay thing — I of course flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty seat in the back without having me introduce myself to the rest of his class.. It was much harder for my new classmates to stare at me when I was seated in the back, but somehow, they managed. One boy, with pale blonde hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes stared particularly hard and long, mouth slightly agape. The small, conceited part of my brain briefly entertained the idea that he was staring because he found me attractive. I kept my eyes trained on the course reading list that Mr. Mason supplied me with. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I’d already read everything.

That was comforting… and boring.

I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.  
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with alabaster skin and hair as black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to speak to me.

“You’re Beauregard Swan, aren’t you?” He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.  
“Beau,” I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.  
“Where’s your next class?” he asked.  
I had to check in my bag. “Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.”

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. “I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way…” Definitely over-helpful. “I’m Eric,” he added.  
I smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”  
We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn’t getting paranoid.

“So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?” he asked.  
“Very.”  
“It doesn’t rain much there, does it?”  
“Three or four times a year.”  
“Wow, what must that be like?” he wondered.  
“Sunny,” I told him. It was getting hard to hide my disinterest in continuing the conversation.  
“You don’t look very tan.”  
“My mother is part albino.”  
He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn’t mix. In a few months I’d forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.  
“Well, good luck,” he said with a smile as I touched the handle.  
“Maybe we will have some other classes together.” He sounded hopeful and had a strange look in his eye. It was one I’d seen a few times in Phoenix from guys who showed interest in me. Those looks never went anywhere though. Maybe it would be different here, but I don’t think I’ve ever been less attracted to a guy than Eric. He would just have to settle for the friend zone. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway solely because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over nothing on my way back to my seat in row four.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map, many guys jumped at the opportunity to escort me to my next class. I was beginning to wonder if my arrival triggered some sort of gay awakening in the teenage boys of Forks. Most would be happy about the attention, but I honestly just wanted to blend in and be left in peace.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my average five feet eight inches, but her wildly curly dark brown hair made up for a bit of the height difference. I couldn’t remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and homework. I didn’t try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all of their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed to be impressed by her bravery in speaking to me — maybe they thought talking to me would draw some ire from any town homophobes. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.  
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren’t talking, and they weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren’t gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn’t look anything alike.

Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weightlifter, with dark, curly hair. He was exactly my type, at least physically, I was a sucker for muscleheads… up until they opened their mouths. But this particular hulk seemed different from the ones I’d seen in Phoenix, he had a different aura to him. Another was slightly shorter, leaner, but still muscular, and had honey blonde hair. The third was lanky, less bulky, but still far more muscular than any of the other boys I’d seen in Forks. He had strange, untidy bronze colored hair. He had the appearance of an intellectual-jock hybrid. All three looked as if they were in college rather than high school students.

The two girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of a swimsuit catalogue, or on a runway in Milan. She had the kind of body that made every girl around her take a hit on their self-esteem just by being in the same vicinity. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, but not unhealthy looking. She had small features, and her dark hair was cropped short and sticking out in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes — purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they all were suffering from a sleepless night, or were almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, angular, perfect.

But all this was not why I couldn’t look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the perfect blonde girl, or the bronze-haired boy.  
They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer’s step, till she dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

“Who are they?” I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I’d forgotten.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone — suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the jock-nerd hybrid, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest—it was as if she had called his name, and he’d looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor laughed in embarrassment, looking at the table like I did.

“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.” She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here — small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

“They are… very nice looking.” I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.  
“Yes!” Jessica agreed with another laugh. “I thought you were completely gay, not bisexual?” She added after a brief pause. I paused myself, she was the first person to outright say it. Everyone else at our lunch table turned to stare at me, waiting for either a conformation or a denial.

“No, I am… gay that is, but I can appreciate feminine beauty.”  
“Great! You can be my gay bestie!”

I didn’t bother to deign that with a response.

“They’re all together though,” Jessica continued after I didn’t answer. “Together-together. Rosalie and Emmett, and Alice and Jasper, I mean. And they live together.” Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, but to be fair, she seemed more concerned about them living together than anything else. If I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

“Which ones are the Cullens?” I asked, hoping to steer away from an unpleasant conversation. “They don’t look related...”  
“Oh, they aren’t. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his early thirties I think. They’re all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister though — the blondes — they’re foster children.”  
“They look a little old for foster children.”  
“They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were seven. She’s their aunt or something.”  
“That’s really kind of nice — for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.”  
“I guess so,” Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn’t like the doctor and his wife. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume at least part of the reason was jealousy.

“I don’t think Mrs. Cullen can have any kids of her own though,” she added, as if that lessened their kindness. Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.  
“Have they always lived in Forks?” I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.  
“No,” she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. “They just moved down early last year from somewhere in Alaska.”

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

“Which one is the boy with reddish-brown hair?” I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today — he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

“That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Anyone. Apparently none of the girls here are good enough for him, and I have no idea if he’s gay so I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.” She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he turned her down, had he had to turn any guys down along with her?

I bit my lip to hide my smile. Then I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful — even the massive, curly-haired guy. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn’t look at me again. I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I’d been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too. She was probably the most likeable person I’d met today.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I’d noticed that his eyes were black — black as coal.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he’d given me.

I didn’t look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. I tried to sniff my shirt inconspicuously. It smelled like laundry detergent, an innocent enough odor. I scooted my chair to the right, giving him as much space as I could, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I’d already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn’t stop myself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. It was just like I thought, he was way more muscular than any of the other boys here. He just looked slight when seated next to his mammoth brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn’t breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica’s bitterness at lunch today. Maybe he was not as resentful as I’d thought.  
It couldn’t have anything to do with me. He didn’t know me from Adam.

I hoped to God it wasn’t the gay thing. That would be terrible.

But he didn’t look this angry or act this hostile in the lunchroom. And I highly doubt that in the five minutes between seeing him in there and sitting next to him here in Biology was enough time for him to hear I was gay for the first time and form an oppinion. Surely even the Cullens kept up on town gossip.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was much taller than I’d thought — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn’t fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

“Aren’t you Beauregard Swan?” a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn’t think I smelled bad. I quickly recognized him as the boy who was drooling over me in English earlier. I briefly paused to consider his appearance. I found him fairly attractive, though he was no Cullen. He had bright blue eyes and straight white teeth. He was tall and solid looking — despite the softness of his face — clearly an athlete. I would have found him more attractive if not for the obvious leering he had been doing that morning.

“Beau,” I corrected him, with a smile.  
“I’m Mike.”  
“Hi, Mike.”  
“Do you need any help finding your next class?”  
“I’m headed to the gym actually, I think I can find it.”  
“That’s my next class, too!” He seemed thrilled, though it wasn’t that much of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He’d lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. He was the nicest person I’d met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, “So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I’ve never seen him act like that.” I cringed. So I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn’t Edward Cullen’s usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.  
“Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?” I asked artlessly.  
“Yes,” he said. “He looked like he was in pain or something.”  
“I don’t know, I never spoke to him.”  
“He’s a weird guy.” Mike lingered by me instead of heading into the locker room. “If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.”

I smiled at him as we walked into the boys locker room. He was friendly and clearly another admirer, but it wasn’t enough to ease my irritation.

At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth. The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn’t make me dress down for today’s class. I did have to wait in the locker room while everyone else finished however.

My locker was right next to Mike’s, and he was not shy at all about stripping down to just his boxers in front of me, chatting about sports and classes the whole time. I couldn’t help but admire his physique. While his face still held a bit of baby fat, that was not true for his torso, which was trim and muscular. He had the beginning of a six-pack, and his pecs were rather defined. He wasn’t an extraordinary specimen or anything, but it was a nice torso all the same. I blushed and looked away when he noticed me staring at his flat stomach. He couldn’t contain his grin. ‘Don’t lead him on!’ I chastised myself.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained — and inflicted — playing volleyball, I felt slightly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.  
When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn’t appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free. He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time — any other time.  
I just couldn’t believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my bangs into my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen’s back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome — with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

“Never mind, then,” he said hastily in a voice like velvet. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

“How did your first day go, dear?” the receptionist asked maternally.  
“Fine,” I lied, my voice weak. She didn’t look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life.

I headed back to Charlie’s house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Open Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I forgot to mention it, but Beau is short for Beauregard rather than Beaufort in this. I just think Beauregard is a prettier name that fits better with the vampires.
> 
> No Beta. I own nothing other than gay stuff.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * *

-

The next day was better...and worse.

It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering. Maybe my joke about awakening the boys of Forks’ sexualities had some truth to it, I tried not to feel too smug about that. People didn’t look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Angela, and Jessica, along with a whole host of people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn’t sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. It was worse because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn’t cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the back of the head with it. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn’t in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. I’d gone seventeen years without getting into a fight, and I wasn’t about to start now. I made the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica — trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely — I saw that his four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and he was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment Edward would arrive. I hoped that he would simply ignore me when he came, and prove my suspicions false.  
He didn’t come, and as time passed I grew more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn’t showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edward Cullen wasn’t there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like I was going to have to do something about Mike, and it wouldn’t be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. I had never been enormously tactful; I had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys. Mike was attractive, but I didn’t move to Forks to form any lasting connections to anyone but Charlie.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edward was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason he wasn’t there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn’t stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy blue sweater. I hurried from the boys’ locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded Mike, who decided to shower in order to wash off the sweat he worked up from his intense playing. Standing next to a dripping, half-naked Mike while hot steam billowed around us would not help me in the slightest. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Last night I’d discovered that Charlie couldn’t cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to hand over the key to the banquet hall. I also found out that he had virtually no food in the house. So I had my shopping list and cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned my deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the ear splitting rumble was coming from someone else’s car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn’t noticed their clothes before — I’d been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn’t look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, I didn’t fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn’t imagine any door that wouldn’t open for that degree of beauty.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I was finally free from the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping in Phoenix, and I gladly fell into the pattern of the familiar task. The store was big enough inside that I couldn’t hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was. 

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn’t mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my book bag upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats and checked my email for the first time. I had three messages.  
“Beau,” my mom wrote…  
Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Love you.  
Mom.

I sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.  
“Beau,” she wrote…  
Why haven’t you emailed me yet? What are you waiting for?  
Mom.

The last was from this morning.  
Beauregard,  
If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I’m calling Charlie.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.  
Mom,  
Calm down. I’m writing right now. Don’t do anything rash.  
Beau.

I sent that, and began again.  
Mom,  
Everything is fine. Of course it’s raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who I eat with at lunch. Your blouse is at the dry cleaners — you were supposed to pick it up Friday. Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it! It’s old but it’s sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my email every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.  
Beau.

I had decided to read Wuthering Heights — the novel we were currently studying in English — yet again for the fun of it, and that’s what I was doing when Charlie came home. I’d lost track of the time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

“Beau?” my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

“Hey, Dad, welcome home.”  
“Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked warily. My mother was an imaginative cook, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.  
“Steak and potatoes,” I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. We were both more comfortable that way. I whipped up a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.  
“Smells good, Beau.”  
“Thanks.”

We ate the steaks — medium — in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t uncomfortable, neither of us was bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

“So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?” he asked as he dug into the baked potato.  
“Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there’s this guy, Mike, who’s very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice.” With one outstanding exception.  
“That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid—nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here.”  
“Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked hesitantly.  
“Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure. Dr. Cullen’s a great man.”  
“They… the kids… are a little different. They don’t seem to fit in very well at school.”

Charlie surprised me by looking angry.

“People in this town,” he muttered. “Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here,” he continued, getting louder.  
“We’re lucky to have him — lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He’s an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they’re all very mature — I haven’t had one speck of trouble from any of them. That’s more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should — camping trips every other weekend… Just because they’re newcomers, and they’re a little… unconventional, people have to talk.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. “They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They’re all very attractive,” I added, trying to be more complimentary.

“You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing he’s happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around. One look at him, and you’d forget all about the wrestlers you liked in middle school,” he said with a smirk.

I blushed furiously. The only downside of having parents who love and accept your gayness is that they seem to go out of their way to embarrass you even more. 

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand — no dishwasher — I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Edward Cullen didn’t come back to school. 

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without him. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all I knew, he had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about him, but I couldn’t totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed. 

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful emails. I did drive to the library Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn’t bother to get a card; I would have to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and shuddered at the thought. 

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn’t remember all of their names, but I smiled and waved at all of them anyway. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by his side. The more we talked the more I found myself easing into the idea of possibly pursuing a relationship with him, so long as I’ve been reading this correctly.  
We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.  
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.  
“Wow,” Mike said. “It’s snowing.”  
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.  
“Ugh.” Snow. There went my good morning.

He looked surprised. “Don’t you like snow?”  
“It’s pretty, but it just means that it’s too cold for rain.” Obviously. “Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes — you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips.”  
“Haven’t you ever seen snow fall before?” He asked with a chuckle.  
“Sure I have.” I paused. “On TV.”

Mike laughed, louder this time. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I had my suspicions about Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us — in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

“I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I patted him on the chest, and kept walking as I continued to speak. “Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside.”

He just nodded, his eyes on Eric’s retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain — until it melted in your socks.

I walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, the snow melting the spikes in his hair. He and Jessica talking animatedly about the snow fight as soon as we got into the line to buy food. I glanced towards the table by the window out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people seated there.  
Jessica pulled on my arm.

“Hello? Beau? What do you want?”

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“What’s with Beau?” Mike asked Jessica.  
“Nothing,” I answered. “I’ll just get a soda today.” I caught up to the end of the line. “Aren’t you hungry?” Jessica asked. “Actually, I feel a little sick,” I said, my eyes still on the floor.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse’s office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family’s table. If he was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.  
I kept my head down and glanced up under my lashes. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else — only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale, I decided — flushed from the snow fight maybe — the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

“Beau, what are you staring at?” Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, Edward’s eyes flashed over to meet mine. I dropped my head as quickly as I could. I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that he didn’t look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time I’d seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you,” Jessica muttered into my ear.  
“He doesn’t look angry, does he?” I couldn’t help asking.  
“No,” she said, sounding confused by my question. “Should he be?”  
“I don’t think he likes me,” I confided. I still felt queasy. I put my head down on my arm.  
“The Cullens don’t like anybody… well, they don’t notice anybody enough to like them. But he’s still staring at you.”  
“Stop looking at him,” I hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away. I raised my head enough to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted.

Mike interrupted us then—he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. I guess Mike’s questionable sexuality was only very obvious to me. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I’d made with myself. Since he didn’t look angry, I would go to Biology. My stomach did frightened little flips at the thought of sitting next to him again.

I didn’t really want to walk to class with Mike as usual — he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers — but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, secretly pleased. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mr. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn’t start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.  
“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.  
I looked up, stunned that he was speaking to me. He was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward me. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled — even so, he looked like he’d just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

“My name is Edward Cullen,” he continued. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan.”

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; he was waiting. But I couldn’t think of anything conventional to say.  
“H-how do you know my name?” I stammered.

He laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.  
“Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

“No,” I persisted stupidly. “I meant, why did you call me Beau?” 

He seemed confused. “Do you prefer Beauregard?”  
“No, I like Beau,” I said. “But I think Charlie — I mean my dad — must call me Beauregard behind my back — that’s what everyone here seems to know me as,” I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

“Oh.” He let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as he explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren’t supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, he would be coming around to see who had it right.

“Get started,” he commanded.

“Would you like to go first?” Edward asked. I looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that I could only stare at him like an idiot.  
“Or I could start, if you wish.” The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if I was mentally competent.  
“No,” I said, flushing. “I’ll go ahead.”

I was showing off, just a little. I’d already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. “Prophase.”

“Do you mind if I look?” he asked as I began to remove the slide. His hand caught mine, to stop me, as he asked. His fingers were ice cold, like he’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn’t why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However, he continued to reach for the microscope. I watched him, still staggered, as he examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.  
“Prophase,” he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.  
“Anaphase,” he murmured, writing it down as he spoke. 

I kept my voice indifferent. “May I?”

He smirked and pushed the microphone towards me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, he was right.

“Slide three?” I held out my hand without looking at him.

He handed it to me; it seemed like he was being careful not to touch my skin again.

I took the most fleeting look I could manage.  
“Telophase.” I passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn’t want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.  
Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at him… unsuccessfully. I glanced up, and he was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in his face.

“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out unthinkingly.

He seemed puzzled by my unexpected question. “No.”  
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”

He shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he’d glared at me — the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone. I didn’t understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. His hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mr. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren’t working. He looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.  
“So, Edward, didn’t you think Beauregard should get a chance with the microscope?” Mr. Banner asked.  
“Beau,” Edward corrected automatically.  
“Actually, he identified three of the five.”

Mr. Banner looked at me now; his expression was skeptical.

“Have you done this lab before?” he asked.  
I smiled sheepishly. “Not with onion root.”  
“Whitefish Blastula?”  
“Yeah.”

Mr. Banner nodded. “Were you in an advanced placement program back in Phoenix?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” He mumbled something else as he walked away. After he left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” Edward asked. I had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like he had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong.  
“Not really,” I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn’t concentrate.  
“You don’t like the cold.” It wasn’t a question.  
“Or the wet.”  
“Forks must be a difficult place for you to live,” he mused.  
“You have no idea,” I muttered darkly.

He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

“Why did you come here, then?”

No one had asked me that—not straight out like he did, demanding.

“It’s… complicated.”  
“I think I can keep up,” he pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

“My mother got remarried,” I said.  
“That doesn’t sound so complex,” he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. “When did that happen?”  
“Last September.” My voice sounded sad, even to me.  
“And you don’t like him,” Edward surmised, his tone still kind.  
“No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough.”  
“Why didn’t you stay with them?”

I couldn’t fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life’s story was somehow vitally important.  
“Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living.” I half-smiled.  
“Have I heard of him?” he asked, smiling in response.  
“Probably not. He doesn’t play well. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot.”  
“And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him.” He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

My chin raised a fraction. “No, she did not send me here. I sent myself.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to him? He continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

“She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie.” My voice was glum by the time I finished.  
“But now you’re unhappy,” he pointed out.  
“And?” I challenged.  
“That doesn’t seem fair.” He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

I laughed without humor. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Life isn’t fair.”

“I believe I have heard that somewhere before,” he agreed dryly.  
“So that’s all,” I insisted, wondering why he was still staring at me that way.

His gaze became appraising. “You put on a good show,” he said slowly. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”  
I grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old, and looked away.

“Am I wrong?”

I tried to ignore him.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured smugly.  
“Why does it matter to you?” I asked, irritated. I kept my eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.  
“That’s a very good question,” he muttered, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get. 

I sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

“Am I annoying you?” he asked. He sounded amused.

I glanced at him without thinking… and told the truth again. “Not exactly. I’m more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read — my mother always calls me her open book.” I frowned.  
“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.” Despite everything that I’d said and he’d guessed, he sounded like he meant it.  
“You must be a good reader then,” I replied.  
“Usually.” He smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth. 

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I’d just explained my dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise me. He’d seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that he was leaning away from me again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mr. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were unmanageable.

Edward was just so… peculiar.

Peculiar and hot.

When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after him in amazement.

Mike skipped quickly to my side and picked up my books for me. I imagined him with a wagging tail.  
“That was awful,” he groaned. “They all looked exactly the same. You’re lucky you had Cullen for a partner.”  
“I didn’t have any trouble with it,” I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly.  
“I’ve done the lab before, though,” I added before he could get his feelings hurt.  
“Edward seemed friendly enough today,” he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He didn’t seem pleased about it — a little suspicious, even.

I tried to sound indifferent. “I wonder what was with him last Monday.”

I couldn’t concentrate on Mike’s chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn’t do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. I could tell he was showing off. He chivalrously covered my position as well as his own, so my woolgathering was only interrupted when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed my damp hair out so the heater could dry it on the way home. 

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That’s when I noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw him laughing.


	3. Phenomenon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

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-

When I opened my eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog veiling my window.

I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn’t the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid — coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.  
Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn’t the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

I should be avoiding him entirely after my brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And I was suspicious of him; why should he lie about his eyes? I was still frightened of the hostility I sometimes felt emanating from him, and I was still tongue-tied whenever I pictured his perfect face. I was well aware that my league and his league were spheres that did not touch. So I shouldn’t be at all anxious to see him today.

It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror and save myself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish.

Driving to school, I distracted myself from my fear of falling and my unwanted speculations about Edward Cullen by thinking about Mike and Eric, and the obvious difference in how each boy responded to me here. I was sure I looked exactly the same as I had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the boys back home had watched me pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of me that way. Perhaps it was because I was a novelty here, where novelties were few and far between. I had been leading Mike on quite a bit these past weeks, and although I did consider him good boyfriend material, something was still blocking me from really liking him.

I honestly hadn’t given Eric a second thought. He just wasn’t my type.

But, whatever the reason, Mike’s puppy dog behavior and Eric’s apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. It was kind of nice to have friends who were happy to see me, but I wasn’t sure if I didn’t prefer being ignored.

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I’d had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck. My throat suddenly felt tight. I wasn’t used to being taken care of, and Charlie’s unspoken concern caught me by surprise.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. I looked up, startled.

I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work much faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars down from me, staring at me in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn’t even have time to close my eyes.

Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I’d parked next to. But I didn’t have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming.  
It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.

A low groan made me aware that someone was with me, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two large, white hands shot out protectively in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van’s body.

Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll’s, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear  
Edward Cullen’s low, frantic voice in my ear.

“Beau? Are you all right?”  
“I’m fine.” My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized he was holding me against the side of his body in an iron grasp.  
“Be careful,” he warned as I struggled. “I think you hit your head pretty hard.”

I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear. 

“Ow,” I said, surprised.  
“That’s what I thought.” His voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter.  
“How in the…” I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. “How did you get over here so fast?”  
“I was standing right next to you, Beau,” he said, his tone serious again.

I turned to sit up, and this time he let me, releasing his hold around my waist and sliding as far from me as he could in the limited space. I looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his gold-colored eyes. What was I asking him?

And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.

“Don’t move,” someone instructed.  
“Get Tyler out of the van!” someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edward’s cold hand pushed my shoulder down.  
“Just stay put for now.”  
“But it’s cold,” I complained. It surprised me when he chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound.  
“You were over there,” I suddenly remembered, and his chuckle stopped short. “You were by your car.”

His expressionsion turned hard. “No I wasn’t.”

“I saw you.” All around us was chaos. I could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I obstinately held on to our argument; I was right, and he was going to admit it.  
“Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way.” He unleashed the full, devastating power of his eyes on me, as if trying to communicate something crucial.  
“No.” I set my jaw.

The gold in his eyes blazed. “Please, Beau.”

“Why?” I demanded.  
"Trust me,” he pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming.

I could hear the sirens now. “Will you promise to explain everything to me later?”

“Fine,” he snapped, abruptly exasperated.  
“Fine,” I repeated angrily.

It took six EMTs and two teachers — Mr. Varner and Coach Clapp — to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edward vehemently refused his, and I tried to do the same, but the traitor told them I’d hit my head and probably had a concussion. I almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edward got to ride in the front. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.

“Beau!” he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.  
“I’m completely fine, Char—Dad,” I sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. I tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in my head. When they’d lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car’s bumper — a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Edward’s shoulders… as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame…

And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury, but held no hint of concern for their brother’s safety.

I tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what I had just seen — a solution that excluded the assumption that I was insane.  
Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edward simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. I ground my teeth together.

They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn’t obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Tyler Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Tyler looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But he was staring anxiously at me.

“Beau, I’m so sorry!”  
“I’m fine, Tyler — you look awful, are you all right?” As we spoke, nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and left cheek.

He ignored me. “I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong.…” He winced as one nurse started dabbing at his face.

“Don’t worry about it; you missed me.”  
“How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone.…”  
“Umm… Edward pulled me out of the way.”

He looked confused. “Who?”

“Edward Cullen—he was standing next to me.” I’d always been a terrible liar; I didn’t sound convincing at all.  
“Cullen? I didn’t see him… wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?”  
“I think so. He’s here somewhere, but they didn’t make him use a stretcher.”

I knew I wasn’t crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I’d seen.

They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Tyler’s constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince him I was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, I closed my eyes and ignored him. He kept up a remorseful mumbling.

“Is he sleeping?” a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.

Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, smirking. I glared at him. It wasn’t easy — it would have been more natural to ogle.

“Hey, Edward, I’m really sorry—” Tyler began.

Edward lifted a hand to stop him.

“No blood, no foul,” he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Tyler’s bed, facing me. He smirked again  
“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked me.  
“There’s nothing wrong with me at all, but they won’t let me go,” I complained. “How come you aren’t strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?”  
“It’s all about who you know,” he answered. “But don’t worry, I came to spring you.”

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. He was young, he was blond… and he was hotter than any movie star I’d ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Charlie’s description, this had to be Edward’s Father.

“So, Mr. Swan,” Dr. Cullen said in a remarkably appealing voice, “how are you feeling?”  
“I’m fine,” I said, for the last time, I hoped.

He walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.

“Your X-rays look good,” he said. “Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard on the blacktop.”  
“It’s fine,” I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl toward Edward.

The doctor’s cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. He noticed when I winced.

“Tender?” he asked.  
“Not really.” I’d had worse.

I heard a chuckle, and looked over to see Edward’s patronizing smile. My eyes narrowed.

“Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all.”  
“Can’t I go back to school?” I asked, imagining Charlie trying to be attentive.  
“Maybe you should take it easy today.”

I glanced at Edward. “Does he get to go to school?”

“Someone has to spread the good news that we survived,” Edward said smugly.  
“Actually,” Dr. Cullen corrected, “most of the school seems to be in the waiting room.”  
“Oh no,” I moaned, covering my face with my hands.

Dr. Cullen raised his perfectly arched eyebrows. “Do you want to stay?”

“No, no!” I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly — I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. He looked concerned.  
“I’m fine,” I assured him again. No need to tell him my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.  
“Take some Tylenol for the pain,” he suggested as he steadied me.  
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” I insisted.  
“It sounds like you were extremely lucky,” Dr. Cullen said, smiling as he signed my chart with a flourish.  
“Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me,” I amended with a hard glance at the subject of my statement.  
“Oh, well, yes,” Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Tyler, and walked to the next bed. My intuition flickered; the doctor was in on it.  
“I’m afraid that you’ll have to stay with us just a little bit longer,” he said to Tyler, and began checking the cuts marring Tyler’s light brown skin.

As soon as the doctor’s back was turned, I moved to Edward’s side.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I hissed under my breath. He took a step back from me, his jaw suddenly clenched.  
“Your father is waiting for you,” he said through his teeth.

I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Tyler.

“I’d like to speak with you alone, if you don’t mind,” I pressed.

He glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face me.

“What do you want?” he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.  
His unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less severity than I’d intended. “You owe me an explanation,” I reminded him.  
“I saved your life — I don’t owe you anything.”  
I flinched back from the resentment in his voice. “You promised.”  
“Beau, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was cutting.  
My temper flared now, and I glared defiantly at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my head.”  
He glared back. “What do you want from me, Beau?”  
“I want to know the truth,” I said. “I want to know why I’m lying for you.”  
“What do you think happened?” he snapped.

It came out in a rush.

“All I know is that you weren’t anywhere near me — Tyler didn’t see you, either, so don’t tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both — and it didn’t, and your hands left dents in the side of it — and you left a dent in the other car, and you’re not hurt at all — and the van should have smashed my legs, but you were holding it up.…” I could hear how crazy it sounded, and I couldn’t continue. I was so mad I could feel the tears coming; I tried to force them back by grinding my teeth together.

He was staring at me incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor.

I merely nodded once, jaw tight.

“Nobody will believe that, you know.” His voice held an edge of derision now.  
“I’m not going to tell anybody.” I said each word slowly, carefully controlling my anger.

Surprise flitted across his face. “Then why does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” I insisted. “I don’t like to lie—so there’d better be a good reason why I’m doing it.”  
“Can’t you just thank me and get over it?”  
“Thank you.” I waited, fuming and expectant.  
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”  
“No.”  
“In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

We scowled at each other in silence. I was the first to speak, trying to keep myself focused. I was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a destroying angel.

“Why did you even bother?” I asked frigidly.  
He paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.  
“I don’t know,” he whispered.  
And then he turned his back on me and walked away.

I was so angry, it took me a few minutes until I could move. When I could walk, I made my way slowly to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than I’d feared. It seemed like every face I knew in Forks was there, staring at me. Charlie rushed to my side; I put up my hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I assured him sullenly. I was still aggravated, not in the mood for chitchat.  
“What did the doctor say?”  
“Dr. Cullen saw me, and he said I was fine and I could go home.” I sighed. Mike and Jessica and Eric were all there, beginning to converge on us. “Let’s go,” I urged.

Charlie put one arm behind my back, not quite touching me, and led me to the glass doors of the exit. I waved sheepishly at my friends, hoping to convey that they didn’t need to worry anymore. It was a huge relief — the first time I’d ever felt that way — to get into the cruiser.

We drove in silence. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely knew Charlie was there. I was positive that Edward’s defensive behavior in the hall was a confirmation of the bizarre things I still could hardly believe I’d witnessed.

When we got to the house, Charlie finally spoke.

“Um… you’ll need to call Renée.” He hung his head, guilty.

I was appalled. “You told Mom!”

“Sorry.”

I slammed the cruiser’s door a little harder than necessary on my way out.

My mom was in hysterics, of course. I had to tell her I felt fine at least thirty times before she would calm down. She begged me to come home — forgetting the fact that home was empty at the moment — but her pleas were easier to resist than I would have thought. I was consumed by the mystery Edward presented. And more than a little obsessed by Edward himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I wasn’t as eager to escape Forks as I should be, as any normal, sane person would be.

I decided I might as well go to bed early that night. Charlie continued to watch me anxiously, and it was getting on my nerves. I stopped on my way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, I drifted to sleep.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to keep Logan Mallory from L&D instead of Lauren Mallory from the original. I think I'll make him the source of our homophobia. 
> 
> enjoy, and please leave a comment if you have anything good to say. Kudos appreciated too!

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-

In my dream it was very dark.

What dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward’s flawless skin.

I couldn’t see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn’t sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.  
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.

To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike and Eric were even less friendly toward him than they were to each other, which made me worry that I’d gained another unwelcome fan.

Why did it seem like I’d turned every boy in Forks into a raging homosexual? Or into bicurious superfans at the very least.

No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over that he was the hero — how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Eric, and everyone else always commented that they hadn’t even seen him there till the van was pulled away.

I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause — no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.

Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore.

When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over the bones — did I wonder if he wasn’t quite as oblivious as he appeared.

He wished he hadn’t pulled me from the path of Taylor’s van — there was no other conclusion I could come to.

I wanted very much to talk to him, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I’d seen him, outside the ER, we’d both been so furious. I still was angry that he wouldn’t trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had in fact saved my life, no matter how he’d done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude.

He was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he realized I was there.

“Hello, Edward,” I said pleasantly, to show him I was going to behave myself.

He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.

And that was the last contact I’d had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself — from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.

Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my emails alerted Renée to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.

Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I could see he’d thought that my fascination with Edward might not be strictly platonic, despite the fact that Mike, nor Edward had ever declared their sexualties to be anything. I think he’d been worried Edward’s daring rescue might have impressed me even more. He was definitely relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as he ignored us.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he’d never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.

Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she called the first Tuesday of March to ask my permission to ask Mike to the girl’s choice spring dance in two weeks.

“Are you sure you don’t mind… you weren’t planning to ask him?” she persisted when I told her I didn’t mind in the least. I wasn’t sure if anyone other than myself suspected Mike of being in the closet, so I decided to just play dumb, and deny everything.  
“No, Jess, I’m not going,” I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities. “And while he’s cute, as far as I know he’s straight, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the tranquility of our lunch table by assuming otherwise. And it’s girl’s choice anyway.”  
“True, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s straight, that would have jus been embarrassing if you’d asked him. But you should still come, It’ll be really fun.” Her attempt to convince me was halfhearted. I suspected that Jessica enjoyed my inexplicable popularity more than my actual company.  
“You have fun with ninety-nine percent straight Mike,” I encouraged with a chuckle.  
The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn’t her usual enthusiastic self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Mike had turned her down, I was the last person she would want to tell.

My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Eric. Mike was unusually quiet. He was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn’t broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely an invention of my imagination.

“So,” Mike said, looking at the floor, “Jessica asked me to the spring dance.”  
“That’s great.” I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. “You’ll have a lot of fun with Jess.”  
“Well…” He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. “I told her I had to think about it.”  
“Why would you do that?” I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn’t given Jessica an absolute no.

His face was bright red as he looked down again. Pity shook my resolve.

“I was thinking we could hang out that night, maybe get dinner, or see a movie?”  
“That sounds more like a date than hanging out Mike, do you need to tell me something? We can move this out into the hall or parking lot for more privacy.”

I tried to be gentle, if I’d been reading this wrong it could be disastrous. I was sure I hadn’t though. His tendency to strip down to nothing but his boxers and march around wearing nothing but a towel and water droplets, smiling when he noticed me checking him out, made me pretty certain of his feelings towards me.

“No, not a date!” He said, flustered. “We can just hang out and talk then.” 

He seemed nervous, he was biting his plump lower lip.

I paused for a moment, hating the wave of guilt that swept through me. But I saw, from the corner of my eye, Edward’s head tilt reflexively in my direction.

“Mike, I think you should tell her yes, you can just go as friends, a nice gesture.” I said. “But we can definitely talk at some point about...that, if you need to.” I was whispering now, I didn’t want to accidently out the nicest guy in Forks.

“Did you already make plans with someone?” Did Edward notice how Mike’s eyes flickered in his direction?  
“No,” I assured him. “I’m not going to even be in town for the dance.”  
“Why not?” Mike demanded.

I didn’t want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I quickly made new plans.

“I’m going to Seattle that Saturday,” I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway — it was suddenly the perfect time to go.  
“Can’t you go some other weekend?”  
“Sorry, no,” I said. “So you shouldn’t make Jessica wait any longer —i t’s rude. We can talk as soon as I get back if you’d like.”  
“Yeah, you’re right, I give her an answer later” he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. Mr. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.

And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.

I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.

“Mr. Cullen?” the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn’t heard.  
“The Krebs Cycle,” Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mr. Banner.

I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place. Cowardly as ever, I stared determinedly at the page, though I gave up on actually reading it. I couldn’t believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me—just because he’d happened to look at mea for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn’t allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.

I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.

“Beau?” His voice shouldn’t have been so familiar to me, as if I’d known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.

I turned slowly, unwillingly. I didn’t want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at his too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I finally turned to him; his expression was unreadable. He didn’t say anything.

“What? Are you speaking to me again?” I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “No, not really,” he admitted.

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. He waited.

“Then what do you want, Edward?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to him coherently that way.  
“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. “I’m being very rude, I know. But it’s better this way, really.”

I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice guarded.  
“It’s better if we’re not friends,” he explained. “Trust me.”

My eyes narrowed. I’d heard that before.

“It’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier,” I hissed through my teeth. “You could have saved yourself all this regret.”  
“Regret?” The word, and my tone, obviously caught him off guard. “Regret for what?”  
“For not just letting that stupid van squish me.”

He was astonished. He stared at me in disbelief.

When he finally spoke, he almost sounded mad. “You think I regret saving your life?”

“I know you do,” I snapped.  
“You don’t know anything.” He was definitely mad.

I turned my head sharply away from him, clenching my jaw against all the wild accusations I wanted to hurl at him. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I meant to sweep dramatically out of the room, but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the doorjamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. He was there; he’d already stacked them into a pile. He handed them to me, his face hard.

“Thank you,” I said icily.

His eyes narrowed.

“You’re welcome,” he retorted.

I straightened up swiftly, turned away from him again, and stalked off to Gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal. We’d moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edward. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.

It was a relief, as always, to leave. I almost ran to the truck; there were just so many people — particularly four boys — I wanted to avoid. The truck had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. I’d had to replace the taillights, and if I’d had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Tyler’s parents had to sell their van for parts.

I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw someone leaning against the side of my truck. Then I realized it was just Eric. I started walking again.

“Hey, Eric,” I called.  
“Hi, Beau.”  
“What’s up?” I said as I was unlocking the door. I wasn’t paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in his voice, so his next words took me by surprise.  
“Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?” His voice broke on the last word.  
“You — what?” I stammered, too startled to be diplomatic.  
“The dance?” he asked nervously. “Do you want to go with me?”

I recovered my composure and tried to make my smile warm. “Thank you for asking me, I’m flattered, but I’m going to be in Seattle that day.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, maybe next time.”  
“Sure,” I agreed, and then bit my lip. I wouldn’t want him to take that too literally.

He slouched off, back toward the school. I heard a low chuckle.

Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I yanked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it loudly behind me. I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle.

Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there — to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too aggravated to acknowledge him.

While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.

“I’m sorry, Tyler, I’m stuck behind Cullen.” I was annoyed — obviously the holdup wasn’t my fault.  
“Oh, I know — I just wanted to ask you something while we’re trapped here.” He grinned.

This could not be happening.

“Will you go with me to the spring dance?” he continued.  
“I swear three weeks ago I was the only out gay guy in Forks.” I said, my voice laced with disbelief.  
“I’ve actually been an out bisexual since last year, but as for the others…” he said with a sly smirk… “I think you’re arrival helped bring that on.”  
“Well, thank you for confirming my suspicions, but I’m not going to be in town Tyler.” My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn’t her fault that Mike and Eric had already used up my quota of patience for the day.  
“Yeah, Mike said that,” he admitted.  
“Then why —”

He shrugged. “I was hoping you were just letting him down easy.”

Okay, it was completely his fault.

“Sorry, Tyler,” I said, working to hide my irritation. “I really am going out of town.”  
“That’s cool. We still have prom.”

And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror,  
Edward’s eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he’d heard every word Tyler had said. My foot itched toward the gas pedal… one little bump wouldn’t hurt any of them, just that glossy silver paint job. I revved the engine.

But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.

When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.

It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation, although her tone dropped off a little when she mentioned that Mike said it would be as friends. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. Se had to go, she wanted to call Angela and Logan to tell them the good news. I suggested — with casual innocence — that maybe Angela, the shy girl who had Biology with me, could ask Eric. And Logan, a standoffish guy who had always ignored me at the lunch table, could third-wheel with Tyler, so at least he wouldn’t have to be alone with all the couples. Jessica thought that was a great idea. Now that she was sure of Mike, she actually sounded sincere when she said she wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.

After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinne r— dicing the chicken especially; I didn’t want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken today. What did he mean, it was better if we weren’t friends?

My stomach twisted as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on… so we couldn’t even be friends… because he wasn’t interested in me at all.

Of course he wasn’t interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn’t interesting. And he was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. I couldn’t blame him — the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen. I was no Gordon Ramsey, but I enjoyed cooking enough that I had developed quite a knack for it. My mother’s inconsistency in the kitchen also helped speed up the learning process, and my interest in the task.

“Dad?” I asked when he was almost done.  
“Yeah, Beau?”

I sat down across from him and gave him my excuse. Not that he knew it was an excuse.

“Um, I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday… if that’s okay?” I didn’t want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.  
“Why?” He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn’t offer.  
“Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited—and maybe look at some clothes.” I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn’t had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn’t cost me quite a bit in the gas department.  
“That truck probably doesn’t get very good gas mileage,” he said, echoing my thoughts.  
“I know, I’ll stop in Montesano and Olympia — and Tacoma if I have to.”  
“Are you going all by yourself?” he asked, and I couldn’t tell if he was suspicious I had a secret boyfriend or just worried about car trouble.  
“Yes.”  
“Seattle is a big city—you could get lost,” he fretted.  
“Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don’t worry about it.”  
“Do you want me to come with you?”

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

“That’s all right, Dad, I’ll probably just be in bookstores and stuff all day — very boring.”  
“Oh, okay.” The thought of sitting in a store that didn’t sell fishing gear was probably abhorrent to him.  
“Thanks.” I smiled.  
“Will you be back in time for the dance?”

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

“No — I don’t dance, Dad.” He, of all people, should understand that — I didn’t get my balance problems from my mother.

He did understand. “Oh, that’s right,” he realized.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

“How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation.  
“Do what?” He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.  
“Appear out of thin air like a damn wizard.”  
"Beau, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” His voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted.

I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

“Why the traffic jam last night?” I demanded, still looking away. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”  
“That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to let him have his chance.” He snickered.  
“You…” I gasped. I couldn’t think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.  
“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” he continued.  
“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Taylor’s van didn’t do the job?”

Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

“Beau, you are utterly absurd,” he said, his low voice cold.

My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.

“Wait,” he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.  
“I’m sorry, that was rude,” he said as we walked. I ignored him. “I’m not saying it isn’t true,” he continued, “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”  
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.  
“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.  
“Do you have Dissociative Identity Disorder?” I asked severely.  
“You’re doing it again.”

I sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday — you know, the day of the spring dance —”  
“Are you trying to be funny?” I interrupted him, wheeling toward him—though the idea of him asking me to the dance made my cheeks flush. My face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.

His eyes were wickedly amused. “Will you please allow me to finish?”

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn’t do anything rash.

“I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride.”

That was unexpected.

“What?” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.  
“Do you want a ride to Seattle?”  
“With who?” I asked, mystified.  
“Myself, obviously.” He enunciated every syllable as if he were talking to someone who was mentally incapacitated.

I was still stunned. “Why?”

“Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it.”  
“My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern.” I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.  
“But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?” He matched my pace again.  
“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.  
“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.”  
“Honestly, Edward.” I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I hated it. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”  
“I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be.”  
“Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up.” Heavy sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn’t help my clarity of thought.  
“It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend,” he explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau.”

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Will you go with me to Seattle?” he asked, still intense.

I couldn’t speak yet, so I just nodded.

He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.

“You really should stay away from me,” he warned. “I’ll see you in class.”

He turned abruptly and walked back the way we’d come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time!  
> XoXo - Trixie


	5. Blood Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more thickness, and i'm not just talking about Beau's ass, I mean the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the format a little by putting spaces between some of the dialogue, let me know if you like it or dislike it or don't give a shit. Love Trixie.

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-

I made my way to English in a daze.

I didn’t even realize when I first walked in that class had already began.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan,” Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn’t till class ended that I realized Mike wasn’t sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn’t totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing and potentially humiliating him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn’t just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I’d confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to him on any level.

So I was impatient and frightened as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see Edward’s face, to see if he’d gone back to the cold, indifferent person I’d known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard this morning. Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans — Angela had asked Eric, and he had said yes, while Logan agreed to third-wheel with Tyler. The six of them were all going together — completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I’d lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

“Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. “I wonder why he isn’t sitting with his family today.”

My head snapped up. I followed Jessica’s gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he’d caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.

“Does he mean you?” Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.  
“Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,” I muttered for her benefit. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.”

I could feel Jessica staring after me as I walked away.

When I reached Edward’s table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.

“Why don’t you sit with me today?” he asked, smiling.

I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

“This is different,” I finally managed.  
“Well…” He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”

I waited for him to say something that made sense. The seconds ticked by. 

“You know I don’t have any idea what you mean,” I eventually pointed out.  
“I know.” He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. “I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you.”  
“They’ll survive.” I could feel their stares boring into my back.  
“I may not give you back, though,” he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

I gulped.

He laughed. “You look worried.”

“No,” I said, but, ridiculously, my voice broke. “Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?”  
“I told you — I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I’m giving up.” He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.  
“Giving up?” I repeated in confusion.  
“Yes — giving up trying to be good. I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

“You lost me again.”

The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared.

“I always say too much when I’m talking to you — that’s one of the problems.”  
“Don’t worry — I don’t understand any of it,” I said wryly.  
“I’m counting on that.”  
“So, in plain English, are we friends now?”  
“Friends…,” he mused, dubious.  
“Or not,” I muttered.

He grinned. “Well, we can try, I suppose. But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.” Behind his smile, the warning was real.

“You say that a lot,” I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in my stomach and keep my voice even.  
“Yes, because you’re not listening to me. I’m still waiting for you to believe it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.”  
“I think you’ve made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.” My eyes narrowed.

He smiled apologetically.

“So, as long as I’m being… not smart, we’ll try to be friends?” I struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.  
“That sounds about right.”

I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now.

“What are you thinking?” he asked curiously.

I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.

“I’m trying to figure out what you are.”

His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.

“Are you having any luck with that?” he asked in an offhand tone.  
“Not too much,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “What are your theories?”

I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.

“Won’t you tell me?” he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile.

I shook my head. “Too embarrassing.”

“That’s really frustrating, you know,” he complained.

“No,” I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, “I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?”

He grimaced.

“Or better,” I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, “say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating.”

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?”  
“I don’t like mind games.”

We stared at each other, unsmiling.

He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

“What?”  
“Your boyfriend seems to think I’m being unpleasant to you — he’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.” He snickered again.  
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said frostily. “But I’m sure you’re wrong, anyway.”  
“I’m not. I told you, most people are easy to read.”  
“Except me, of course.”  
“Yes. Except for you.” His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. “I wonder why that is.”

I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, distracted.  
“No.” I didn’t feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. “You?” I looked at the empty table in front of him.  
“No, I’m not hungry.” I didn’t understand his expression — it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.  
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked after a second of hesitation.

He was suddenly wary. “That depends on what you want.”

“It’s not much,” I assured him.

He waited, guarded but curious.

“I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I’m prepared.” I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.

“That sounds fair.” He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.  
“Thanks.” 

“Then can I have one answer in return?” he demanded.  
“One.”  
“Tell me one theory.”  
Whoops. “Not that one.”

“You didn’t qualify, you just promised one answer,” he reminded me.  
“And you’ve broken promises yourself,” I reminded him back.  
“Just one theory — I won’t laugh.”  
“Yes, you will.” I was positive about that.

He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.

“Please?” he breathed, leaning toward me.

I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy shit, how did he do that?

“Er, what?” I asked, dazed.  
“Please tell me just one little theory.” His eyes still smoldered at me.  
“Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?” Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?  
“That’s not very creative,” he scoffed. 

“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” I said, miffed.  
“You’re not even close,” he teased. 

“No spiders?”  
“Nope.”  
“And no radioactivity?”  
“None.”  
“Dang,” I sighed, mock upset. 

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either,” he chuckled.  
“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?” But I couldn’t keep my lips from tilting up.

He struggled to compose his face.

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” I warned him.  
“I wish you wouldn’t try.” He was serious again.  
“Because…?”  
“What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?” He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.  
“Oh,” I said, as several things he’d hinted fell suddenly into place. “I see. Sounds like you're trying extra hard to be edgy”  
“Do you?” His face was abruptly severe, ignoring the jab. It was as if he were afraid that he’d accidentally said too much. 

“You’re dangerous?” I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He’d been trying to tell me that all along.

He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn’t comprehend.

“But not bad,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, I don’t believe that you’re bad.”

“You’re wrong.” His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn’t feel afraid. He meant what he was saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.

The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I jumped to my feet. “We’re going to be late.”

“I’m not going to class today,” he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.  
“Why not?”  
“It’s healthy to ditch class now and then.” He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.  
“Well, I’m going,” I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting caught.

He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. “I’ll see you later, then.”

I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door — with a last glance confirming that he hadn’t moved a centimeter.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn’t in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike’s table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

“Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box,” he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. “The first should be an indicator card,” he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. “The second is a four-pronged applicator —” he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick “— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet.” He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

“I’ll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don’t start until I get to you.” He began at Mike’s table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. 

“Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…” He grabbed Mike’s hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike’s middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

“Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs.” He demonstrated, squeezing Mike’s finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

“And then apply it to the card,” he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

“The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type.” He sounded proud of himself. “Those of you who aren’t eighteen yet will need a parent’s permission — I have slips at my desk.”

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

“Beau, are you all right?” Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.  
“I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner. I'm AB negative,” I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.  
“Are you feeling faint?”  
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.“Can someone take Beau to the nurse, please?” he called.

I didn’t have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.

“Can you walk?” Mr. Banner asked.  
“Yes,” I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I’ll crawl.

Mike seemed eager as he came to help me. Before I had a chance to protest, he scooped me up bridal-style and marched out the door. It was a surprising show of strength, I wasn’t that tall or heavy, Mike definitely beat me in the height and weight department, but I was more or less dead weight at this point.

Mike carried me slowly across campus. 

I didn’t want to admit it, but it felt good to have my head pillowed against his firm chest. I wanted to like it more, like it enough that I could forget all about Edward, but I couldn’t manage it.

When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped and lifted my head off of Mike’s pec.

“Just let me sit for a minute, please?” I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

“And whatever you do, make sure I can’t see your hand,” I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

“Wow, you’re green, Beau,” Mike said nervously.  
“Beau?” a different voice called from the distance.

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

“What’s wrong — is he hurt?” His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn’t imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

Mike seemed stressed. “I think he’s fainted. I don’t know what happened, he didn’t even stick his finger.”

“Beau.” Edward’s voice was right beside me, relieved now. “Can you hear me?”  
No,” I groaned. “Go away.”  
He chuckled.

“I was carrying him to the nurse,” Mike explained in a defensive tone, “but he wouldn’t go any farther.”  
“I’ll take him,” Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. “You can go back to class.”  
“No,” Mike protested. “I’m supposed to do it.”

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten. Much easier than even Mike had lifted me.

“Put me down!” Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking before I was finished talking.  
“Hey!” Mike barked, already ten paces behind us.

Edward ignored him. “You look awful,” he told me, grinning.

“Put me back on the sidewalk,” I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk was not helping. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all my weight with just his arms — it didn’t seem to bother him.

A stupid part of my brain wished I could feel the meat of his pecs against my face like with Mike. 

I bet they were cold. And hard...

“So you faint at the sight of blood?” he asked. This seemed to entertain him.

I didn’t answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my strength, clamping my lips together.

“And not even your own blood,” he continued, enjoying himself.

He put me down before dragging me through the office door, so at least some of my dignity was preserved. I don’t know how he opened the door while pulling me along, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.

“Oh my,” I heard a female voice gasp.  
“He fainted in Biology,” Edward explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse’s door with me in tow. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and helped me gently onto the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.

“He’s just a little faint,” he reassured the startled nurse. “They’re blood typing in Biology.”

The nurse nodded sagely. “There’s always one.”

He muffled a snicker.

“Just lie down for a minute, honey; it’ll pass.”

“I know,” I sighed. The nausea was already fading.  
“Does this happen a lot?” she asked.  
“Sometimes,” I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.

“You can go back to class now,” she told him.  
“I’m supposed to stay with him.” He said this with such assured authority that — even though she pursed her lips — the nurse didn’t argue it further.

“I’ll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear,” she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.  
“You were right,” I moaned, letting my eyes close.  
“I usually am — but about what in particular this time?”  
“Ditching is healthy.” I practiced breathing evenly.

“You scared me for a minute there,” he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. “I thought Mike was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods.”  
“Ha ha.” I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

“Honestly — I’ve seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder.  
“Poor Mike. I’ll bet he’s mad.”  
“He absolutely loathes me,” Edward said cheerfully.  
“You can’t know that,” I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if he could.  
“I saw his face — I could tell.”

“How did you see me? I thought you were ditching.” I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I’d eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

“I was in my car, listening to a CD.” Such a normal response — it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

“Here you go, dear.” She laid it across my forehead. “You’re looking better,” she added.

“I think I’m fine,” I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

“We’ve got another one,” she warned.

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. “Here, I don’t need this.”

And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Leann Stephens, a girl in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

“Oh no,” Edward muttered. “Go out to the office, Beau.”

I looked up at him, bewildered.

“Trust me — go.”

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.

“You actually listened to me.” He was stunned.

“I smelled the blood,” I said, wrinkling my nose. Leann wasn’t sick from watching other people, like me.  
“People can’t smell blood,” he contradicted.  
“Well, I can — that’s what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt.”

He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

“What?” I asked.  
“It’s nothing.”

Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

“You look better,” he accused.  
“Just keep your hand in your pocket,” I warned him again.  
“It’s not bleeding anymore,” he said. “Are you going back to class?”  
“Are you kidding? I’d just have to turn around and come back.”  
“Yeah, I guess.… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?” While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. “Sure, I said I was in.”

“We’re meeting at my dad’s store, at ten.” His eyes flickered to Edward again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language — mainly his puffed out chest — made it clear that it wasn’t an open invitation.

“I’ll be there,” I promised.

“I’ll see you in Gym, then,” he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

“See you,” I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.

“Gym,” I groaned.

“I can take care of that.” I hadn’t noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. “Go sit down and look pale,” he muttered.  
That wasn’t a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me.

I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.

“Ms. Cope?”

“Yes?” I hadn’t heard her return to her desk.

“Beau has Gym next hour, and I don’t think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?” His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.

“Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?” Ms. Cope fluttered. Why couldn’t I do that?

“No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won’t mind.”

“Okay, it’s all taken care of. You feel better, Beau,” she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

“Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?” With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.  
“I’ll walk.”

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice — the first time I’d enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky — as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.

“Thanks,” I said as he followed me out. “It’s almost worth getting sick to miss Gym.”

“Anytime.” He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.

“So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?” I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn’t picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn’t belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I’d felt for the outing.

“Where are you all going, exactly?” He was still looking ahead, expressionless.

“Down to La Push, to First Beach.” I studied his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally.

He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly. “I really don’t think I was invited.”

I sighed. “I just invited you.”

“Let’s you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don’t want him to snap.” His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.

“Forget Mike,” I muttered, preoccupied by the way he’d said “you and I.” I liked it more than I should.

We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket, yanking me back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, outraged. He was gripping a fistful of my jacket in one hand.

I was confused. “I’m going home.”

“Didn’t you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I’m going to let you drive in your condition?” His voice was still indignant.  
“What condition? And what about my truck?” I complained.

“I’ll have Alice drop it off after school.” He was towing me toward his car now, pulling me by my jacket. It was all I could do to keep from falling backward. He’d probably just drag me along anyway if I did.  
“Let go!” I insisted. He ignored me. I staggered along sideways across the wet sidewalk until we reached the Volvo. Then he finally freed me — I stumbled against the passenger door.

“You are so pushy!” I grumbled.  
“It’s open,” was all he responded. He got in the driver’s side.

“I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!” I stood by the car, fuming. It was raining harder now, and I’d never put my hood up, so my hair was dripping down my back.  
He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. “Get in, Beau.”

I didn’t answer. I was mentally calculating my chances of reaching the truck before he could catch me. I had to admit, they weren’t good.

“I’ll just drag you back,” he threatened, guessing my plan.

I tried to maintain what dignity I could as I got into his car. I wasn’t very successful — I looked like a half-drowned cat and my boots squeaked.

“This is completely unnecessary,” I said stiffly.

He didn’t answer. He fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down. As he pulled out of the parking lot, I was preparing to give him the silent treatment — my face in full pout mode — but then I recognized the music playing, and my curiosity got the better of my intentions.

“Clair de Lune?” I asked, surprised.  
“You know Debussy?” He sounded surprised, too.  
“Not well,” I admitted. “My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house — I only know my favorites.”

“It’s one of my favorites, too.” He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn’t feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

“What is your mother like?” he asked me suddenly after we’d been driving for a while.

I glanced over to see him studying me with curious eyes.

“She looks a lot like me, but female, and more attractive,” I said. He raised his eyebrows. “I have too much Charlie in me. She’s more outgoing than I am, and braver. She’s irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she’s a very unpredictable cook. She’s my best friend.” I stopped. Talking about her was making me feel upset.

“How old are you, Beau?” His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn’t imagine. He’d stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie’s house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.

“I’m seventeen,” I responded, a little confused.  
“You don’t seem seventeen.”

His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.

“What?” he asked, curious again.

“My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year.” I laughed, and then sighed. “Well, someone has to be the adult.” I paused for a second. “You don’t seem much like a junior in high school yourself,” I noted.

He made a face and changed the subject.  
“So why did your mother marry Phil?”

I was surprised he remembered the name; I’d mentioned Phil only once, and that was over a month ago. It took me a moment to answer.

“My mother… she’s very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she’s crazy about him.” I shook my head. The attraction was rather mysterious to me.

“Do you approve?” he asked.  
“Does it matter?” I countered. “I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants.”  
“That’s very generous.… I wonder,” he mused.  
“What?”

“Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?” He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.  
“I, uh…” I paused. “She’s… always been extremely supportive of me...being gay. If that’s what you mean.”

It felt weird - Knowing that he knew that about me.

Edward chuckled. “My parents are also supportive...of any and all love so long as it’s legal. They would never judge me for loving anyone.”

My face flushed. “I-I think she would, so long as he was kind and warm…”

“No one too scary?” He teased.

I grinned in response. “What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?”

“That’s one definition, I suppose.”  
“What’s your definition?”

But he ignored my question and asked me another. “Do you think that I could be scary?” He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.

I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. “Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to.”

“Are you frightened of me now?” The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.

“No.” But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.

“So, now are you going to tell me about your family?” I asked to distract him. “It’s got to be a much more interesting story than mine.”

He was instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”

“The Cullens adopted you?” I verified.  
“Yes.”

I hesitated for a moment. “What happened to your parents?”

“They died many years ago.” His tone was matter-of-fact.  
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled  
“I don’t really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now.” 

“And you love them.” It wasn’t a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.  
“Yes.” He smiled. “I couldn’t imagine two better people.”  
“You’re very lucky.”  
“I know I am.”  
“And your brother and sister?”

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

“My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me.”

“Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go.” I didn’t want to get out of the car.

“And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don’t have to tell him about the Biology incident.” He grinned at me.

“I’m sure he’s already heard. There are no secrets in Forks.” I sighed.

He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.

“Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing.” He glanced out at the sheeting rain.  
“Won’t I see you tomorrow?”  
“No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early.”  
“What are you going to do?” A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn’t too apparent in my voice.  
“We’re going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier.”

I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.

“Oh, well, have fun.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don’t think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.

“Will you do something for me this weekend?” He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

I nodded helplessly.

“Don’t be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, all right?” He smiled crookedly.

The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I snapped as I jumped out into the rain. I slammed the door behind me with unnecessary force.

He was still smiling as he drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you have noticed that over the past 5 chapters I've spiced up Mike Newton and made Beau actually consider him a little bit, it's because I like Mike. I think he has potential as a good gay character in fanfics, he just hasn't been written a lot. He's pretty cute too. Anyways, leave a comment and I'll most likely respond!


	6. Scary Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life's a beach. A stony, cold, gray, Washington beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I really needed more female characters, even if they're just background, so I swapped Conner for Colleen from L&D. It's not a big change. I'm not sure if either Conner or Colleen even have any dialogue. I also kept Leann from L&D instead of Lee, but again I don't think either have any dialogue.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * *

-

As I sat in my room, trying to concentrate on the third act of Macbeth, I was really listening for my truck. I would have thought, even over the pounding rain, I could have heard the engine’s roar. But when I went to peek out the curtain — again — it was suddenly there.

I wasn’t looking forward to Friday, and it more than lived up to my poor expectations. Of course there were the fainting comments. Jessica especially seemed to get a kick out of that story. Luckily Mike had kept his mouth shut, only piping up when people teased him about sweeping me off my feet. No one seemed to know about Edward’s involvement at all. Jess did have a lot of questions about lunch, though.

“So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?” Jessica asked in Trig.  
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He never really got to the point.”

“You looked kind of mad,” she fished.  
“Did I?” I kept my expression blank.

“You know, I’ve never seen him sit with anyone other than his family before. That was weird.”

“Weird.” I agreed. She seemed annoyed; she flipped her dark curls impatiently — I guessed she’d been hoping that I had some juicy gossip that she could pass on.

The worst part about Friday was that, even though I knew he wasn’t going to be there, I still hoped. When I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica and Mike, I couldn’t keep from looking at his table, where Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper sat talking, heads close together. And I couldn’t stop the gloom that engulfed me as I realized I didn’t know how long I would have to wait before I saw him again.

At my usual table, everyone was full of our plans for the next day. Mike was animated again, putting a great deal of trust in the local weatherman who promised sun tomorrow. I’d have to see that before I believed it. March wasn’t the best beach trip month, but it was warmer today — almost sixty. Maybe the outing wouldn’t be completely miserable.

I intercepted a few unfriendly glances from Logan during lunch, which I didn’t understand until we were all walking out of the room together. I was right behind him, just a foot from his slick, silver blond hair, and he was evidently unaware of that. 

“… don’t know why Beauregard” — he sneered my name — “doesn’t just sit with the Cullens from now on,” I heard him muttering to Mike. I’d never noticed what an unpleasant, nasal voice he had, and I was surprised by the malice in it. I really didn’t know him well at all, certainly not well enough for him to dislike me — or so I’d thought. He was probably just jealous of all the attention I was receiving from the boys of Forks. I’d heard from Jessica that he and Tyler were the only out LGBT people in Forks before I arrived. Both of them were bisexual.

“He’s my friend; he sits with us,” Mike whispered back loyally, but also a bit territorially. I paused to let Jessica and Angela pass me. I didn’t want to hear any more. He could stay mad.

That night at dinner, Charlie seemed enthusiastic about my trip to La Push in the morning. I think he felt guilty for leaving me home alone on the weekends, but he’d spent too many years building his habits to break them now. Of course he knew the names of all the kids going, and their parents, and their great-grandparents, too, probably. He seemed to approve. I wondered if he would approve of my plan to ride to Seattle with Edward Cullen. Not that I was going to tell him.

“Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something like that? I think it’s south of Mount Rainier,” I asked casually.  
“Yeah — why?”

I shrugged. “Some kids were talking about camping there.”

“It’s not a very good place for camping.” He sounded surprised. “Too many bears. Most people go there during the hunting season.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “Maybe I got the name wrong.”

I meant to sleep in, but an unusual brightness woke me. I opened my eyes to see a clear yellow light streaming through my window. I couldn’t believe it. I hurried to the window to check, and sure enough, there was the sun. It was in the wrong place in the sky, too low, and it didn’t seem to be as close as it should be, but it was definitely the sun. Clouds ringed the horizon, but a large patch of blue was visible in the middle. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid that if I left the blue would disappear again.

The Newtons’ Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. I’d seen the store, but I’d never stopped there — not having much need for any supplies required for being outdoors over an extended period of time. In the parking lot I recognized Mike’s Suburban and Tyler’s Sentra. As I pulled up next to their vehicles, I could see the group standing around in front of the Suburban. Eric was there, along with two other kids I had class with; I was fairly sure their names were Ben and Colleen. Jessica was there, flanked by Angela and Logan. Three other guys stood with them, including one I remembered falling over in Gym on Friday. That one gave me a dirty look as I got out of the truck, and whispered something to Logan, who eyed me scornfully.

So it was going to be one of those days.

At least Mike was happy to see me, he threw his arm around my shoulder before gesturing up to the sky.

“You came!” he said, delighted. “And I said it would be sunny today, didn’t I?”

“I told you I was coming,” I reminded him.

“We’re just waiting for Leann and Samantha… unless you invited someone,” Mike added.

“Nope,” I lied lightly, hoping I wouldn’t get caught in the lie. But also wishing that a miracle would occur, and Edward would appear.

Mike looked satisfied.

“Will you ride in my car? It’s that or Leann’s mom’s minivan.”  
“Sure.”

He smiled blissfully. It was so easy to make Mike happy.

“You can have shotgun,” he promised. I hid my chagrin. It wasn’t as simple to make Mike and Jessica happy at the same time. I could see her glowering at us now.  
But i was certain Mike was a closeted homosexual, so leading jessica into his arms only for her to end up being a beard would be terrible. She would eventually have to accept the fact that Mike didn’t like her in that way.

I decided that I could help her out on this trip at least — no sense in ruining the trip for her. Leann brought two extra people, so every available space was needed. I managed to get Jessica up to the front, but I placed her next to the window, while I wedged myself between her and Mike, who was very pleased with the close proximity. 

It was only fifteen miles to La Push from Forks, with gorgeous, dense green forests edging the road most of the way and the wide Quillayute River snaking beneath it twice. I didn’t have the window seat, but Mike was more than happy to let me lean over him and stare out the window.. We’d rolled the windows down — the Suburban was a bit claustrophobic with nine people in it — and I tried to absorb as much sunlight as possible. I’d have to let Jessica sit in the middle on the drive back.

I’d been to the beaches around La Push many times during my Forks summers with Charlie, so the mile-long crescent of First Beach was familiar to me. It was still breathtaking. The water was dark gray, even in the sunlight, white-capped and heaving to the gray, rocky shore. Islands rose out of the steel harbor waters with sheer cliff sides, reaching to uneven summits, and crowned with austere, soaring firs. The beach had only a thin border of actual sand at the water’s edge, after which it grew into millions of large, smooth stones that looked uniformly gray from a distance, but close up were every shade a stone could be: terra-cotta, sea green, lavender, blue gray, dull gold. The tide line was strewn with huge driftwood trees, bleached bone white in the salt waves, some piled together against the edge of the forest fringe, some lying solitary, just out of reach of the waves.

There was a brisk wind coming off the waves, cool and briny. Pelicans floated on the swells while seagulls and a lone eagle wheeled above them. The clouds still circled the sky, threatening to invade at any moment, but for now the sun shone bravely in its halo of blue sky.

We picked our way down to the beach, Mike leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs that had obviously been used for parties like ours before. There was a fire circle already in place, filled with black ashes. Eric and the boy I thought was named Ben gathered broken branches of driftwood from the drier piles against the forest edge, and soon had a teepee-shaped construction built atop the old cinders.

“Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?” Mike asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches; the girls clustered, gossiping excitedly, on either side of me. Mike kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a cigarette lighter.

“No,” I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee.

“You’ll like this then — watch the colors.” He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up the dry wood.

“It’s blue,” I said in surprise.

“The salt does it. Pretty, isn’t it?” He lit one more piece, placed it where the fire hadn’t yet caught, and then came to sit by me. Thankfully, Jessica was on his other side. She turned to him and claimed his attention. I watched the strange blue and green flames crackle toward the sky.

After a half hour of chatter, some of our group wanted to hike to the nearby tidal pools. It was a dilemma. On the one hand, I loved the tide pools. They had fascinated me since I was a child; they were one of the only things I ever looked forward to when I had to come to Forks. On the other hand, I’d also fallen into them a lot. Not a big deal when you’re seven and with your dad. It reminded me of  
Edward’s request — that I not fall into the ocean.

Logan was the one who made my decision for me — he didn’t want to hike. Most of the others besides Angela and Jessica decided to stay on the beach as well. I waited until Tyler and Eric had committed to remaining with them before I got up quietly to join the pro-hiking group. Mike gave me a huge smile when he saw that I was coming.

The hike wasn’t too long, though I hated to lose the sky in the woods. The green light of the forest was strangely at odds with the adolescent laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter around me. I had to watch each step I took very carefully, avoiding roots below and branches above, and I soon fell behind. Eventually I broke through the emerald confines of the forest and found the rocky shore again. It was low tide, and a tidal river flowed past us on its way to the sea. Along its pebbled banks, shallow pools that never completely drained were teeming with life.

I was very cautious not to lean too far over the little ocean ponds. The others were fearless, leaping over the rocks, perching precariously on the edges. I found a very stable-looking rock on the fringe of one of the largest pools and sat there cautiously, spellbound by the natural aquarium below me. The bouquets of brilliant anemones undulated ceaselessly in the invisible current, twisted shells scurried about the edges, obscuring the crabs within them, starfish stuck motionless to the rocks and each other, while one small black eel with white racing stripes wove through the bright green weeds, waiting for the sea to return. I was completely absorbed, except for one small part of my mind that wondered what Edward was doing now, and trying to imagine what he would be saying if he were here with me.

Finally everyone was hungry, and I got up stiffly to follow them back. I tried to keep up better this time through the woods, so naturally I fell a few times. I got some shallow scrapes on my palms, and the knees of my jeans were stained green, but it could have been worse.

When we got back to First Beach, the group we’d left behind had multiplied. As we got closer we could see the shining, straight black hair and copper skin of the newcomers, teenagers from the reservation come to socialize. The food was already being passed around, and the hikers hurried to claim a share while Eric introduced us as we each entered the driftwood circle. Angela and I were the last to arrive, and, as Eric said our names, I noticed a younger boy sitting on the stones near the fire glance up at me in interest. I sat down next to Angela, and Mike brought us sandwiches and an array of sodas to choose from, while a boy who looked to be the oldest of the visitors rattled off the names of the seven others with him. All I caught was that one of the girls was also named Jessica, and the boy who noticed me was named Jacob.

It was relaxing to sit with Angela; she was a restful kind of person to be around — she didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with chatter. She left me free to think undisturbed while we ate. And I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.

During lunch the clouds started to advance, slinking across the blue sky, darting in front of the sun momentarily, casting long shadows across the beach, and blackening the waves. As they finished eating, people started to drift away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others were gathering a second expedition to the tide pools. Mike — with Jessica shadowing him — headed up to the one shop in the village. Some of the local kids went with them; others went along on the hike. By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, with Logan and Tyler occupying themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring, and three teenagers from the reservation perched around the circle, including the boy named Jacob and the oldest boy who had acted as spokesperson.

A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Jacob sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. 

Altogether, a very pretty face. And he was muscular — my kryptonite. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the first words out of his mouth.

“You’re Beauregard Swan, aren’t you?”

It was like the first day of school all over again.

“Beau,” I sighed.  
“I’m Jacob Black.” He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. “You bought my dad’s truck.”  
“Oh,” I said, relieved, shaking his sleek hand. “You’re Billy’s son. I probably should remember you.”  
“No, I’m the youngest of the family — you probably remember my older sisters.”  
“Rachel and Rebecca,” I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends. Of course, I’d kicked up enough tantrums to end the fishing trips by the time I was eleven.

“Are they here?” I examined the girls at the ocean’s edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

“No.” Jacob shook his head. “Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer — she lives in Hawaii now.”  
“Married. Wow.” I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

“So how do you like the truck?” he asked.  
“I love it. It runs great.”

“Yeah, but it’s really slow,” he laughed. “I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn’t let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there.”

“It’s not that slow,” I objected.  
“Have you tried to go over sixty?”  
“No,” I admitted.  
“Good. Don’t.” He grinned.

I couldn’t help grinning back. “It does great in a collision,” I offered in my truck’s defense.

“I don’t think a tank could take out that old monster,” he agreed with another laugh.

“So you build cars?” I asked, impressed.

“When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?” he added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.

“Sorry,” I laughed, “I haven’t seen any lately, but I’ll keep my eyes open for you.” As if I knew what that was. He was very easy to talk with.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize. I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“You know Beauregard, Jacob?” Logan asked — in what I imagined was an insolent tone — from across the fire. My smile vanished.

“We’ve sort of known each other since I was born,” he laughed, smiling at me again.

“How nice.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was nice at all, and his pale, fishy eyes narrowed.

“Beau,” he called again, watching my face carefully, “I was just saying to Tylerr that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn’t anyone think to invite them?” His expression of concern was unconvincing.

“You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen’s family?” the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Logan’s irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.

“Yes, do you know them?” Logan asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward the boy.  
“The Cullens don’t come here,” he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring Logan’s question.

Tyler, trying to win back his attention, asked Logan’s opinion on a CD he held. The jackass was distracted.

I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He’d said that the Cullens didn’t come here, but his tone had implied something more — that they weren’t allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.

Jacob interrupted my meditation. “So is Forks driving you insane yet?”

“Oh, I’d say that’s an understatement.” I grimaced. He grinned understandingly.

I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn’t have any better ideas. Jacob seemed to like me, and I hoped it was enough that he wouldn’t see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting. Mike, Eric and Tyler were all pretty infatuated by me though, so maybe it wouldn’t be totally hopeless. I couldn’t be sure he was gay, but every other boy that I interacted with seemed to turn into a hopeless fairy so I was willing to take that chance.

“Do you want to walk down the beach with me?” I asked, trying to imitate that way Edward had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. It couldn’t have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Jacob jumped up willingly enough.

As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

“So you’re, what, sixteen?” I asked, trying to butter him up.  
“I just turned fifteen,” he confessed, flattered.

“Really?” My face was full of false surprise. “I would have thought you were older.”

“I’m tall for my age,” he explained.

“Do you come up to Forks much?” I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.

“Not too much,” he admitted with a frown. “But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want — after I get my license,” he amended.

“Who was that other boy Logan was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us.” I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Jacob.

“That’s Sam — he’s twenty,” he informed me.

“What was that he was saying about the doctor’s family?” I asked innocently.

“The Cullens? Oh, they’re not supposed to come onto the reservation.” He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I’d thought I’d heard in Sam’s voice.

“Why not?”

He glanced back at me, biting his lip. “Oops. I’m not supposed to say anything about that.”

“Oh, I won’t tell anyone, I’m just curious.” I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back, though, looking allured enough. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was even huskier than before.

“Do you like scary stories?” he asked ominously.

“I love them,” I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

“Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from — the Quileutes, I mean?” he began.

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood — supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark.” He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the stories. “Another legend claims that we descended from wolves — and that the wolves are our brothers still. It’s against tribal law to kill them.”

“Then there are the stories about the cold ones.” His voice dropped a little lower.  
“The cold ones?” I asked, not faking my intrigue now. “Like... beer?”

“No, not beer.” He said with another laugh. “There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land.” He rolled his eyes.

“Your great-grandfather?” I encouraged.

“He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf — well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves.”

“Werewolves have enemies?”

“Only one.”

I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.

“So you see,” Jacob continued, “the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather’s time was different. They didn’t hunt the way others of their kind did — they weren’t supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn’t expose them to the pale-faces.” He winked at me.

“If they weren’t dangerous, then why…?” I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his scary story.  
“There’s always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they’re civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist.” He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.

“What do you mean, ‘civilized’?”

“They claimed that they didn’t hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead.”

I tried to keep my voice casual. “So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?”

“No.” He paused dramatically. “They are the same ones.”

He must have thought the expression on my face was fear inspired by his story. He smiled, pleased, and continued.

“There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather’s time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He’d been here and gone before your people had even arrived.” He was fighting a smile.

“And what are they?” I finally asked. “What are the cold ones?”

He smiled darkly.

“Blood drinkers,” he replied in a chilling voice. 

“Vampires?”

“Yeah.”

I stared out at the rough surf after he answered, not sure what my face was exposing.

“You have goose bumps,” he laughed delightedly.

“You’re a good storyteller,” I complimented him, still staring into the waves.

“Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn’t it? No wonder my dad doesn’t want us to talk about it to anyone.”

I couldn’t control my expression enough to look at him yet. “Don’t worry, I won’t give you away.”

“I guess I just violated the treaty,” he laughed.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” I promised, and then I shivered.

“Seriously, though, don’t say anything to Charlie. He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren’t going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there.”

“I won’t, of course not.”

“So do you think we’re a bunch of superstitious natives or what?” he asked in a playful tone, but with a hint of worry. I still hadn’t looked away from the ocean.

I turned and smiled at him as normally as I could.

“No. I think you’re very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goose bumps, see?” I held up my arm.

“Cool.” He smiled.

And then the sound of the beach rocks clattering against each other warned us that someone was approaching. Our heads snapped up at the same time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward us.

“There you are, Beau,” Mike called in relief, waving his arm over his head.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jacob asked, alerted by the jealous edge in Mike’s voice. I was surprised it was so obvious.

So Jacob knew, and didn’t care. That makes things easier.

“He wishes,” I whispered. I was tremendously grateful to Jacob, and eager to make him as happy as possible, and I trusted him with this secret. I winked at him, carefully turning away from Mike to do so. 

He smiled, elated by my inept flirting.

“So when I get my license…,” he began.

“You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime.” I felt guilty as I said this, knowing that I’d used him. But I really did like Jacob. He was someone I could easily be friends with.

Mike had reached us now, with Jessica still a few paces back. I could see Mike’s eyes appraising Jacob, and looking satisfied at his obvious youth.

“Where have you been?” he asked, though the answer was right in front of him.

“Jacob was just telling me some local legends,” I volunteered. “It was really interesting.”

I smiled at Jacob warmly, and he grinned back.

“Well,” Mike paused, carefully reassessing the situation as he watched our camaraderie. “We’re packing up — it looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

We all looked up at the glowering sky. It certainly did look like rain.

“Okay.” I jumped up. “I’m coming.”

“It was nice to see you again,” Jacob said, and I could tell he was taunting Mike just a bit.

“It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Billy, I’ll come, too,” I promised.

His grin stretched across his face. “That would be cool.”

“And thanks,” I added earnestly.

I pulled up my hood as we tramped across the rocks toward the parking lot. A few drops were beginning to fall, making black spots on the stones where they landed. When we got to the Suburban the others were already loading everything back in. I crawled into the backseat by Angela and Tyler, announcing that I’d already had my turn in the shotgun position. I didn’t want to deal with any of Mike’s jealousy, even though I’d promised myself to steer Jess away from him. Angela just stared out the window at the escalating storm, and Logan twisted around in the middle seat to occupy Tyler’s attention, so I could simply lay my head back on the seat and close my eyes and try very hard not to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next time, hope you enjoyed. Please do comment, I love feedback!


	7. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau has a steamy bad dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most altered chapter so far. And it was the most fun and challenging to write. I hope you enjoy!

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-

I told Charlie I had a lot of homework to do, and that I didn’t want anything to eat. There was a basketball game on that he was excited about, though of course I had no idea what was special about it, so he wasn’t aware of anything unusual in my face or tone. 

Once in my room, I locked the door. I dug through my nightstand until I found my old headphones, and I plugged them into my little CD player. I picked up a CD that Phil had given to me for Christmas. It was one of his favorite bands, but they used a little too much bass and shrieking for my tastes. I popped it into place and lay down on my bed. I put on the headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it was almost loud enough to hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded, so I added a pillow over the top half of my face.

I concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. By the third time I’d listened through the CD, I knew all the words to the choruses, at least. I was surprised to find that I really did like the band after all, once I got past the blaring noise. I’d have to thank Phil again.

And it worked. The shattering beats made it impossible for me to think — which was the whole purpose of the exercise. I listened to the CD again and again, until I was singing along with all the songs, until, finally, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of my consciousness that I was dreaming, I recognized the green light of the forest. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks somewhere nearby. And I knew that if I found the ocean, I’d be able to see the sun. I was trying to follow the sound, but then a shirtless Jacob Black was there, tugging on my hand, pulling me back toward the blackest part of the forest.

“Jacob? What’s wrong?” I asked. His face was frightened as he yanked with all his strength against my resistance; I didn’t want to go into the dark.

“Run, Beau, you have to run!” he whispered, terrified.

“This way, Beau!” I recognized Mike’s voice calling out of the gloomy heart of the trees, but I couldn’t see him.

“Why?” I asked, still pulling against Jacob’s grasp, desperate now to find the sun.

But Jacob let go of my hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim forest floor. He twitched on the ground as I watched in horror.

“Jacob!” I screamed. But he was gone. In his place was a large red-brown wolf with black eyes. The wolf faced away from me, pointing toward the shore, the hair on the back of his shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between his exposed fangs.

Mike stepped out of the treeline, also shirtless. “Beau, run!” Mike cried out again. But I didn’t listen. I was watching a light coming toward me from the beach.

And then Edward stepped out from the trees, his skin faintly glowing, his eyes black and dangerous. He held up one hand and beckoned me to come to him. The wolf growled at my feet.

I took a step forward, toward Edward. He smiled then, and his teeth were sharp, pointed.

“Trust me,” he purred.

I took another step.

The wolf launched himself across the space between me and the vampire, fangs aiming for the jugular.

“No!” I screamed, wrenching upright out of my bed.

My sudden movement caused the headphones to pull the CD player off the bedside table, and it clattered to the wooden floor.

My light was still on, and I was sitting fully dressed on the bed, with my shoes on. I glanced, disoriented, at the clock on my dresser. It was nearly five-thirty in the morning.

I groaned, fell back, and rolled over onto my face, kicking off my converse. I was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep, though. I rolled back over and unbuttoned my jeans, yanking them off awkwardly as I tried to stay horizontal. I pulled the pillow back over my eyes.

It was all no use, of course. My subconscious had dredged up exactly the images I’d been trying so desperately to avoid. I was going to have to face them now.

I sat up, and my head spun for a minute as the blood flowed downward. First things first, I thought to myself, happy to put it off as long as possible. I grabbed my bathroom bag.

The shower didn’t last nearly as long as I hoped it would, though. I tried rubbing one out, but I just knew it would take a certain stimulus to get me off, and he was the last thing I wanted to think about at the moment. I decided to stall by taking the time to blow-dry my hair. I was soon out of things to do in the bathroom. Wrapped in a towel, I crossed back to my room. I couldn’t tell if Charlie was still asleep, or if he had already left. I went to look out my window, and the cruiser was gone. Fishing again.

I dressed slowly in my most comfy sweats and then made my bed. I decided against wearing a shirt, the chill helped with the distraction. I went to my desk and switched on my old computer.

I hated using the Internet here. My modem was sadly outdated, my free service substandard; just dialing up took so long that I decided to go get myself a bowl of cereal while I waited.

I ate slowly, chewing each bite with care. When I was done, I washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs. I went to my CD player first, picking it up off the floor and placing it precisely in the center of the table. I pulled out the headphones, and put them away in the nightstand drawer. Then I turned the same CD on, turning it down to the point where it was background noise.

With another sigh, I turned to my computer. Naturally, the screen was covered in pop-up ads. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to my favorite search engine. I shot down a few more pop-ups and then typed in one word.

Vampire.

It took an infuriatingly long time, of course. When the results came up, there was a lot to sift through — everything from movies and TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, and gothic cosmetic companies. 

Porn, because of course there would be porn.

Then I found a promising site — Vampires A–Z. I waited impatiently for it to load, quickly clicking closed each ad that flashed across the screen. Finally the screen was finished — simple grey background with black text, academic-looking. Two quotes greeted me on the home page:

Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both. —Rev. Montague Summers

If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires? —Rousseau

The rest of the site was an alphabetized listing of all the different myths of vampires held throughout the world. The first I clicked on, the Danag, was a Filipino vampire supposedly responsible for planting taro on the islands long ago. The myth continued that the Danag worked with humans for many years, but the partnership ended one day when a woman cut her finger and a Danag sucked her wound, enjoying the taste so much that it drained her body completely of blood.

I read carefully through the descriptions, looking for anything that sounded familiar, let alone plausible. It seemed that most vampire myths centered around beautiful women as demons and children as victims; they also seemed like constructs created to explain away the high mortality rates for young children, and to give people an excuse for infidelity. Many of the stories involved bodiless spirits and warnings against improper burials. There wasn’t much that sounded like the movies I’d seen, and only a very few, like the Hebrew Estrie and the Polish Upier, who were even preoccupied with drinking blood.

Only three entries really caught my attention: the Romanian Varacolaci, a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human, the Slovak Nelapsi, a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight, and one other, the Stregoni benefici.

About this last there was only one brief sentence.

Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires.

It was a relief, that one small entry, the one myth among hundreds that claimed the existence of good vampires.

Overall, though, there was little that coincided with Jacob’s stories or my own observations. I’d made a little catalogue in my mind as I’d read and carefully compared it with each myth. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, eyes that shift color; and then Jacob’s criteria: blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. There were very few myths that matched even one factor.  
And then another problem, one that I’d remembered from the small number of scary movies that I’d seen and was backed up by today’s reading — vampires couldn’t come out in the daytime, the sun would burn them to a cinder. They slept in coffins all day and came out only at night.

Aggravated, I snapped off the computer’s main power switch, not waiting to shut things down properly. Through my irritation, I felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid. I was sitting in my room at the ass-crack of dawn, researching vampires. What was wrong with me? I decided that most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks — and the entire sodden Olympic Peninsula, for that matter.

I had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere I wanted to go that didn’t involve a three-day drive. I pulled on my boots anyway, unclear where I was headed, and went downstairs. I shrugged into my raincoat without checking the weather and stomped out the door.

It was overcast, but not raining yet. I ignored my truck and started east on foot, angling across Charlie’s yard toward the ever-encroaching forest. It didn’t take long till I was deep enough for the house and the road to be invisible, for the only sound to be the squish of the damp earth under my feet and the sudden cries of the jays.

There was a thin ribbon of a trail that led through the forest here, or I wouldn’t risk wandering on my own like this. My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost in much less helpful surroundings. It was the one thing my mother and I had in common, although I wasn’t quite as hopeless as her when it came to directions. 

The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest, mostly east as far as I could tell. It snaked around the Sitka spruces and the hemlocks, the yews and the maples. I only vaguely knew the names of the trees around me, and all I knew was due to Charlie pointing them out to me from the cruiser window in earlier days. There were many I didn’t know, and others I couldn’t be sure about because they were so covered in green parasites.

I followed the trail as long as my anger at myself pushed me forward. As that started to ebb, I slowed. A few drops of moisture trickled down from the canopy above me, but I couldn’t be certain if it was beginning to rain or if it was simply pools left over from yesterday, held high in the leaves above me, slowly dripping their way back to the earth. A recently fallen tree — I knew it was recent because it wasn’t entirely carpeted in moss — rested against the trunk of one of her sisters, creating a sheltered little bench just a few safe feet off the trail. I stepped over the ferns and sat carefully, making sure my jacket was between the damp seat and my clothes wherever they touched, and leaned my hooded head back against the living tree.

This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known, but where else was there to go? The forest was deep green and far too much like the scene in last night’s dream to allow for peace of mind. Now that there was no longer the sound of my soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing. The birds were quiet, too, the drops increasing in frequency, so it must be raining above. The ferns stood higher than my head, now that I was seated, and I knew someone could walk by on the path, three feet away, and not see me.

Here in the trees it was much easier to believe the absurdities that embarrassed me indoors. Nothing had changed in this forest for hundreds of years, and all the myths and legends of a hundred different lands seemed much more likely in this green haze than they had in my clear-cut bedroom.

I forced myself to focus on the two most vital questions I had to answer, but I did so unwillingly.

First, I had to decide if it was possible that what Jacob had said about the Cullens could be true.

Immediately my mind responded with a resounding negative. It was silly and morbid to entertain such ridiculous notions. But what, then? I asked myself. There was no rational explanation for how I was alive at this moment. I listed again in my head the things I’d observed myself: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more — small things that registered slowly — how they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace with which they moved. And the way he sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a twenty-first-century classroom. He had skipped class the day we’d done blood typing. He hadn’t said no to the beach trip till he heard where we were going. He seemed to know what everyone around him was thinking… except me. He had told me he was the villain, dangerous.…

Could the Cullens be vampires?

Well, they were something. Something outside the possibility of rational justification was taking place in front of my incredulous eyes. Whether it be Jacob’s cold ones or my own superhero theory, Edward Cullen was not… human. He was something more.

So then — maybe. That would have to be my answer for now.

And then the most important question of all. What was I going to do if it was true?

If Edward was a vampire — I could hardly make myself think the words — then what should I do? Involving someone else was definitely out. I couldn’t even believe myself; anyone I told would have me committed.

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take his advice: to be smart, to avoid him as much as possible. To cancel our plans, to go back to ignoring him as far as I was able. To pretend there was an impenetrably thick glass wall between us in the one class where we were forced together. To tell him to leave me alone — and mean it this time.

I was gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative. My mind rejected the pain, quickly skipping on to the next option.

I could do nothing different. After all, if he was something… sinister, he’d done nothing to hurt me so far. In fact, I would be a dent in Tyler’s fender if he hadn’t acted so quickly. So quickly, I argued with myself, that it might have been sheer reflexes. But if it was a reflex to save lives, how bad could he be? I retorted. My head spun around in answerless circles.

There was one thing I was sure of, if I was sure of anything. The dark Edward in my dream last night was a reflection only of my fear of the words Jacob had spoken, and not Edward himself. Even so, when I’d screamed out in terror at the werewolf’s lunge, it wasn’t fear for the wolf that brought the cry of “no” to my lips. It was fear that Edward would be harmed — even as he called to me with sharp-edged fangs, I feared for him.

And I knew in that I had my answer. I didn’t know if there ever was a choice, really. I was already in too deep. Now that I knew — if I knew — I could do nothing about my frightening secret. Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now. Even if… but I couldn’t think it. Not here, alone in the darkening forest. Not while the rain made it dim as twilight under the canopy and pattered like footsteps across the matted earthen floor. I shivered and rose quickly from my place of concealment, worried that somehow the path would have disappeared with the rain.

But it was there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the dripping green maze. I followed it hastily, my hood pulled close around my face, becoming surprised, as I nearly ran through the trees, at how far I had come. I started to wonder if I was heading out at all, or following the path farther into the confines of the forest. Before I could get too panicky, though, I began to glimpse some open spaces through the webbed branches. And then I could hear a car passing on the street, and I was free, Charlie’s lawn stretched out in front of me, the house beckoning me, promising warmth and dry socks.

It was ten-thirty when I got back inside. I went upstairs and got dressed for the day, jeans and a t-shirt, since I was staying indoors, though I’d considered a sweater. I was a little too chilly from venturing out into the forest shirtless with nothing but my raincoat to cover me.

It didn’t take too much effort to concentrate on my task for the day, a paper on Macbeth that was due Wednesday. I settled into outlining a rough draft contentedly, more serene than I’d felt since… well, since Thursday afternoon, if I was being honest.

That had always been my way, though. Making decisions was the painful part for me, the part I agonized over. But once the decision was made, I simply followed through — usually with relief that the choice was made. Sometimes the relief was tainted by despair, like my decision to come to Forks. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.

This decision was ridiculously easy to live with. Dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet, productive — I finished my paper before eight. Charlie came home with a large catch, and I made a mental note to pick up a book of recipes for fish while I was in Seattle next week. The chills that flashed up my spine whenever I thought of that trip were no different than the ones I’d felt before I’d taken my walk with Jacob Black. They should be different, I thought. I should be afraid — I knew I should be, but I couldn’t feel the right kind of fear.

I slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from beginning my day so early, and sleeping so poorly the night before. I woke, for the second time since arriving in Forks, to the bright yellow light of a sunny day. I skipped to the window, stunned to see that there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and those there were just fleecy little white puffs that couldn’t possibly be carrying any rain. I opened the window — surprised when it opened silently, without sticking, not having opened it in who knows how many years — and sucked in the relatively dry air. It was nearly warm and hardly windy at all. My blood was electric in my veins.

Charlie was finishing breakfast when I came downstairs, and he picked up on my mood immediately.

“Nice day out,” he commented.  
“Yes,” I agreed with a grin.

He smiled back, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was easier to see why he and my mother had jumped too quickly into an early marriage. Most of the young romantic he’d been in those days had faded before I’d known him, as the curly brown hair — the same color, if not the same texture, as mine — had dwindled, slowly revealing more and more of the shiny skin of his forehead. But when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renée when she was just three years older than I was now.

I ate breakfast cheerily, watching the dust motes stirring in the sunlight that streamed in the back window. Charlie called out a goodbye, and I heard the cruiser pull away from the house. I hesitated on my way out the door, hand on my rain jacket. It would be tempting fate to leave it home. With a sigh, I folded it over my arm and stepped out into the brightest light I’d seen in months.

By dint of much elbow grease, I was able to get both windows in the truck almost completely rolled down. I was one of the first ones to school; I hadn’t even checked the clock in my hurry to get outside. I parked and headed toward the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The benches were still a little damp, so I sat on my jacket, glad to have a use for it. My homework was done — the product of a slow social life — but there were a few Trig problems I wasn’t sure I had right. I took out my book industriously, but halfway through rechecking the first problem I was daydreaming, watching the sunlight play on the red-barked trees. I sketched inattentively along the margins of my homework. After a few minutes, I suddenly realized I’d drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at me. I scrubbed them out with the eraser.

“Beau!” I heard someone call, and it sounded like Mike. I looked around to realize that the school had become populated while I’d been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts, some even in shorts though the temperature couldn’t be over sixty. Mike was coming toward me in khaki shorts and a striped muscle shirt that showed off his arms nicely. I had noticed that he had become subtly bulkier over the past few months. His face had lost some of it’s roundness, and his arms and pecs were noticeably larger.

“Hey, Mike,” I called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning like this.

He came to sit by me, the tidy spikes of his hair shining in the golden light, a grin stretching across his face. He was so delighted to see me, I couldn’t help but feel gratified.

“I never noticed before — your hair has red in it,” he commented, leaning in to brush my bangs back across my forehead.  
“Only in the sun.”

I became just the slightest bit uncomfortable when he scooted across the bench closer to me, our sides now completely flush. I could feel the warmth of his bicep against my shoulder.  
“Great day, isn’t it?”  
“My kind of day,” I agreed.  
“What did you do yesterday?” His tone was just a bit too proprietary.  
“I mostly worked on my essay.” I didn’t add that I was finished with it — no need to sound smug.

He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Oh yeah — that’s due Thursday, right?”

“Um, Wednesday, I think.”  
“Wednesday?” He frowned. “That’s not good.… What are you writing yours on?”  
“Whether or not justice was indeed served at the end of the play, I’m also analyzing the role of the witches in relation to the plot. Their characterization and significance, stuff like that.”

He stared at me like I’d just spoken in pig Latin.

“I guess I’ll have to get to work on that tonight,” he said, deflated. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go out.”

“Oh.” I was taken off guard. Why couldn’t I ever have a pleasant conversation with Mike anymore without it getting awkward? Maybe if he could keep his clothes on in the locker room and in my dreams. 

I can’t believe it took me till now to realize that I had dreamt of a semi-nude Mike Newton last night. Wow.

He has a nice body. Plenty of people probably dream about him in varying states of undress.

“Well, we could go to dinner or something… and I could work on it later.” He smiled at me hopefully.

“Mike…” I hated being put on the spot. “I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

His face fell. “Why?” he asked, his eyes guarded. My thoughts flickered to Edward, wondering if that’s where his thoughts were as well.

“I think… and if you ever repeat what I’m saying right now I will cheerfully beat you to death,” I threatened, “but I think that would hurt Jessica’s feelings.”  
“Jessica?”  
“Seriously Mike, are you blind? She likes you! A lot! And I know you said you didn’t like her and, well…”

I decided to just come out and say it.  
“I know that you aren’t straight.” 

He balked, and began to stammer up a defense before I cut him off.

“Obviously I’m not going to judge you, and I would never share that secret. When I told you that we could talk about it I meant it. I know that you aren’t into Jessica like that, and I know that you are into guys like that. I have good observation skills.”

I decided to leave about the part of me knowing that he had a massive boner for me. Spare him some humiliation.

“You can’t keep stringing along Jessica, it’s not fair to her. I’m not saying come out to her, or announce your undying love for dick to the whole school, but… be very clear that you only like her as a friend, it will end badly if you don’t nip it in the bud now. You shouldn't lead her on."

I was the absolute last person that should tell Mike it was bad to lead people on. I'd been leading him on since day one.

“Oh.” He said, a massive blush on his face. “I guess your right, It’s not fair to her.” 

“Good. And as for going out, I think you should wait until you have things straightened — no pun intended — out, to start asking people to ‘go out.’”

“I’m truly flattered by the way. If you were planning to ask me out just now. I think you’re a great guy, and you’re really attractive. But you should focus on yourself first. Then you can be the best Mike you can be when it comes time to date.”

He turned back to face me. “Thanks Beau, you rock.”

I smiled warmly at him. Hopefully this would put an end to the awkwardness between us, nevermind the fact that I just told him I though he was 'really attractive.'

“It’s time for class, and I can’t be late again.” I gathered my books up and stuffed them in my bag.

We walked in silence to building three in a comfortable silence. He was standing at a more appropriate distance for friends this time. I nudged him as we walked, and he turned to smile.

He still walked me all the way to the door as usual, and when I stopped to hang up my coat, he leaned in and whispered…

“I think you’re really attractive too.” Then he smiled and when to sit in his regular seat.

Hopefully it was just him returning the compliment and not him reading too far into things. Even though the smart thing to do would be to jump into Mike’s arms and forget all about my infatuation with Edward.

I think it's too late for that. Dammit.

When I saw Jessica in Trig, she was clearly upset. Mike must have broke the news to her after English. She, Angela, and Logan were supposed to be going to Port Angeles tonight to go shopping for the dance, and she had wanted me to come, too, even though I didn’t need anything. However, she quickly schooled her features and declared that she didn’t need Mike, and that she would find an even better date before the day was over. She told me the shopping trip was still on and that I must come. I was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town with some friends, but Logan would be there. And who knew what I could be doing tonight.… But that was definitely the wrong path to let my mind wander down. Of course I was happy about the sunlight. But that wasn’t completely responsible for the euphoric mood I was in, not even close.

So I gave her a maybe, telling her I’d have to talk with Charlie first. 

She talked of nothing but the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class finally ended, five minutes late, and we were on our way to lunch. I was far too lost in my own frenzy of anticipation to notice much of what she said. I was painfully eager to see not just Edward but all the Cullens — to compare them with the new suspicions that plagued my mind. As I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria, I felt the first true tingle of fear slither down my spine and settle in my stomach. Would they be able to know what I was thinking? And then a different feeling jolted through me — would Edward be waiting to sit with me again?

As was my routine, I glanced first toward the Cullens’ table. A shiver of panic trembled in my stomach as I realized it was empty. With dwindling hope, my eyes scoured the rest of the cafeteria, hoping to find him alone, waiting for me. The place was nearly filled — Spanish had made us late — but there was no sign of Edward or any of his family. Desolation hit me with crippling strength.  
I shambled along behind Jessica, not bothering to pretend to listen anymore.

We were late enough that everyone was already at our table. I avoided the empty chair next to Mike in favor of one by Angela. I vaguely noticed that Jessica sat as far away as Mike as she could have possibly managed. She and Logan sat next to one another and gossiped, throwing dirty looks Mike’s way the whole time. Mike held his head high though, and chatted animatedly with tyler about sports the whole time.

Angela asked a few quiet questions about the Macbeth paper, which I answered as naturally as I could while spiraling downward in misery. She, too, invited me to go with them tonight, and I agreed now, grasping at anything to distract myself. 

It also didn’t help that I genuinely liked Angela. Besides Edward, she was easily the best person I’d met in Forks.

I realized I’d been holding on to a last shred of hope when I entered Biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.  
The rest of the day passed slowly, dismally. In Gym, we had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next torture they had lined up for me. But at least it meant I got to sit and listen instead of stumbling around on the court. The best part was the coach didn’t finish, so I got a portion of tomorrow off as well. Never mind that soon after they would arm me with a racket before unleashing me on the rest of the class.

I was glad to leave campus, so I would be free to pout and mope before I went out tonight with Jessica and company. But right after I walked in the door of Charlie’s house, Jess called to cancel our plans. Her aunt had popped in for an impromptu visit, and her mother was making her cancel her plans — I really was relieved that I wouldn’t have to pretend to be interested, but my relief faded when she informed me that we would be going tomorrow night instead. I tried to sound enthusiastic — but my enthusiasm sounded false in my own ears. Shopping for anything other than books never really did it for me.

The cancellation of our trip left me with little in the way of distractions. I had fish marinating for dinner, with a salad and bread left over from the night before, so there was nothing to do there. I spent a focused half hour on homework, but then I was through with that, too. I checked my email, reading the backlog of letters from my mother, getting snipped as they progressed to the present. I sighed and typed a quick response. 

Mom,

Sorry. I’ve been out. I went to the beach with some friends. And I had to write a paper.

My excuses were fairly pathetic, so I gave up on that.

It’s sunny outside today — I know, I’m shocked, too — so I’m going to go outside and soak up as much vitamin D as I can. I love you,

Beau.

I decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. I had a small collection of books that came with me to Forks, the shabbiest volume being a compilation of the works of Jane Austen. I selected that one and headed to the backyard, grabbing a ragged old quilt from the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs on my way down.

Outside in Charlie’s small, square yard, I folded the quilt in half and laid it out of the reach of the trees’ shadows on the thick lawn that would always be slightly wet, no matter how long the sun shone. I lay on my stomach, crossing my ankles in the air, flipping through the different novels in the book, trying to decide which would occupy my mind the most thoroughly. My favorites were Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. I’d read the first most recently, so I started into Sense and Sensibility, only to remember after I began chapter three that the hero of the story happened to be named Edward. Angrily, I turned to Mansfield Park, but the hero of that piece was named Edmund, and that was just too close. Weren’t there any other names available in the late eighteenth century? I snapped the book shut, annoyed, and rolled over onto my back. I pushed my sleeves up as high as they would go, and closed my eyes. I would think of nothing but the warmth on my skin, I told myself severely. I focused on the heat that touched my eyelids, my cheekbones, my nose, my lips, my forearms, my neck, soaked through my light shirt.…

The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of Charlie’s cruiser turning onto the bricks of the driveway. I sat up in surprise, realizing the light was gone, behind the trees, and I had fallen asleep. I looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling that I wasn’t alone.

“Charlie?” I asked. But I could hear his door slamming in front of the house.

I jumped up, foolishly edgy, gathering the now-damp quilt and my book. I ran inside to get some oil heating on the stove, realizing that dinner would be late. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and stepping out of his boots when I came in.

“Sorry, Dad, dinner’s not ready yet — I fell asleep outside.” I stifled a yawn.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway.”

I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. I obviously had no interest in baseball, so he changed the channel immediately. The pilot episode of a new show called "Grey’s Anatomy" was just starting, so I told him to leave it on that. 

I was surprised by how much I liked it. At no point did it feel corny or stupid. The drama wasn’t really for my tastes, but the medical stuff was fascinating — despite their most likely being some inaccuracy. I really related to the main character Meredith. We both lived in extremely rainy places in Washington, had just started somewhere new, for me school and her the hospital, and we were both dark and twisty. Plus she was also attracted to an extremely hot guy with crazy, swirly hair. I made Charlie promise to watch the second episode with me the following week. He just seemed glad that I found something I liked other than cooking and reading.

He seemed happy, to be doing something together. And it felt good, despite my depression, to make him happy. 

“Dad,” I said during a commercial, “Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses and shoes for the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to help them choose… do you mind if I go with them?”

“Jessica Stanley?” he asked.  
“And Angela Weber.” I sighed as I gave him the details.

He was confused. “But you’re not going to the dance, right?”

“No, Dad, but I’m helping them find stuff — you know, a gay’s opinion is an important one.” I wouldn’t have to explain this to a woman or another gay guy.

“Well, okay.” He just raised an eyebrow, clearly out of his depth. “It’s a school night, though.”  
“We’ll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You’ll be okay for dinner, right?”  
“Beau, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here,” he reminded me.  
“I don’t know how you survived,” I muttered, then added more clearly, “I’ll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top.”

It was sunny again in the morning. I awakened with renewed hope that I grimly tried to suppress. I dressed for the warmer weather in a deep blue V-neck sweater — something I’d worn in the dead of winter in Phoenix.

I had planned my arrival at school so that I barely had time to make it to class. With a sinking heart, I circled the full lot looking for a space, while also searching for the silver Volvo that was clearly not there. I parked in the last row and hurried to English, arriving breathless, but subdued, before the final bell.  
It was the same as yesterday — I just couldn’t keep little sprouts of hope from budding in my mind, only to have them squashed painfully as I searched the lunchroom in vain and sat at my empty Biology table.

The Port Angeles scheme was back on again for tonight and made all the more attractive by the fact that Logan had other obligations. Jessica asked Colleen if she wanted to go, but the girl stated that she already had her dress. I had a feeling she wasn’t a huge fan of mine either. 

I was anxious to get out of town so I could stop glancing over my shoulder, hoping to see Edward appearing out of the blue the way he always did. I vowed to myself that I would be in a good mood tonight and not ruin Angela’s or Jessica’s trip. Maybe I could do a little clothes shopping as well. I refused to think that I might be shopping alone in Seattle this weekend, no longer interested in the earlier arrangement. Surely Edward wouldn’t cancel without at least telling me.

After school, Jessica followed me home in her old white Mercury so that I could ditch my books and truck. I brushed through my hair quickly when I was inside, feeling a slight lift of excitement as I contemplated getting out of Forks. I left a note for Charlie on the table, explaining again where to find dinner, transferred my new leather wallet that Charlie had gotten me for Christmas from my school bag to my pocket, and ran out to join Jessica. We went to Angela’s house next, and she was waiting for us. 

My excitement increased exponentially as we actually drove out of the town limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe Twilight was published the same year the first episode of Grey's Anatomy aired? 2005 introduced some of my favorite things.


	8. Port Angeles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most significant chapter so far, other than perhaps the first one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the quickest I've uploaded yet. But since September 13th is Beau/Bella's canon birthdays, I thought that it would be fitting to post today. Enjoy! 
> 
> I find it weird that Stephenie Meyer finds it odd or uncommon for someone to refuse a table at a restaurant, i've done it multiple times. I changed that part a little to make it seem less stupid.
> 
> Also Edward doesn't wear a turtleneck to dinner. No man should ever wear a turtleneck...nor a woman for that matter.

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-

Jess drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four. It had been a while since I’d had a night out with friends — I never really had friends to go out with — and it was invigorating. We listened to whiny rock songs while Jessica jabbered on about dresses and shoes and jewelry. She was still bitter over the whole Mike situation, but was planning to make the moves on either Tyler or Ben at the dance. I smiled to myself, pleased that under Jessica’s façade, she seemed to be sensitive enough. Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric. Jessica tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about hairstyles after a bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks. But Jessica and Angela knew it well, so they didn’t plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Jess drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area’s visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semi formal, and we weren’t exactly sure what that meant. Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I’d never been to a dance in Phoenix.

“Didn’t you ever go with a boyfriend or something?” Jessica asked dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.

“Really,” I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. “I’ve never had a boyfriend or anything close. I didn’t go out much.”  
“Why not?” Jessica demanded.  
“No one asked me,” I answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. “People ask you out here,” she reminded me, “and you tell them no.” We were in the juniors’ section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

“Well, except for Tyler,” Angela amended quietly.

“Excuse me?” I gasped. “What did you say?”  
“Tyler told everyone he was taking you to prom, said you guys would be the first ever Forks prom kings.” Jessica informed me with suspicious eyes.  
“He said what?” I sounded like I was choking.  
“I told you it wasn’t true,” Angela murmured to Jessica.

I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.

“That’s why Logan doesn’t like you,” Jessica snorted while we pawed through the clothes.

I ground my teeth. “Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?”

“Maybe,” Jess snickered. “If that’s why he’s doing this.”

I bit my lip while I turned a few hangers around, having been put back haphazardly by whoever was here last. “Maybe I should just tell him he’s not my type,” I said after some deliberation, as casually as I could.

Jessica’s eyes lit up, delighted at the opportunity to learn any amount of personal information about me. “What is your type?” she asked with a grin.

I felt my face flush, but it was too late to back out. “Um….less annoying people… less annoying guys.”

Jess snickered, and even Angela let out a small giggle at that. Hopefully that meant they would drop it. 

The dress selection wasn’t large, but both of them found a few things to try on. I sat on a low chair just outside the dressing room, by the three way mirror, trying to control my fuming.  
Jess was torn between two — one a long, strapless basic black number, the other a knee length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged her to go with the black; the blue one looked cheap and trashy. Angela picked a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out the honey tints in her brown hair. I complimented them both generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I had taken with Renée at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.

We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did see a cute bow-tie earlier when we walked through the mens section. The girls-gays night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Tyler, leaving room for the gloom to settle back in.

“Angela?” I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink heels — she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she could wear high heels at all. Jessica had wandered off to the jewelry counter and we were alone.

“Yes?” She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe. 

I chickened out. “I like those.”

“I think I’ll get them, but they’ll never match with anything but the one dress,” she mused.  
“Oh go ahead, they’re on sale.” I encouraged, though I wasn’t a fan of the pink-on-pink.

She smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical looking off-white shoes. I tried again. “Um, Angela…” She looked up curiously. “Is it normal for the Cullens” — I kept my eyes on the shoes — “to be out of school a lot?” I failed miserably in my attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time — even the doctor. They’re all real outdoorsy,” she told me quietly, examining the heels again. She looked at me curiously, but she didn’t ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like Angela.

“Oh.” I let the subject drop as Jessica returned to show us the necklace she got to match her atrocious pair of strappy silver shoes.

We planned to have dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn’t taken as long as we’d expected. Jessica and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn’t know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jessica pointed out.

I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn’t what I was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. I didn’t even go inside. Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about Edward, and what Angela had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when I looked up to see someone’s silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.

I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go looking for Jessica and Angela yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around the corner.

I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren’t too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other’s arms. I scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.

“Hey, there!” one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.

“Hi,” I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full volume behind me.

“Hey, wait!” one of them called after me again, but I kept my head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them chortling behind me.

I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I’d wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I’d left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.

They were from the same group I’d passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who’d spoken to me. I turned my head forward at once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made me shiver again. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my duffel bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn’t have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about “accidentally” dropping my wallet and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.

I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they’d been making earlier, and it didn’t sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don’t know they’re following you. I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they’d been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster. The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.

It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace steady, the men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

And skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn’t being followed.

I was being herded.

I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.

“There you are!” The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.

“Yeah,” a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as I tried to hurry down the street. “We just took a little detour.”

My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn’t sure how much volume I could manage.

The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a stop, and walked slowly into the street.

“Stay away from me,” I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he called, and the raucous laughter started again behind me.

“A pretty little twink like you shouldn't be wandering around all by yourself. There are monsters about.”

Oh God. This could not be happening. 

I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye socket — try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn’t have a chance against one of them, they were so much bigger than me, the twink comment could not be more true. And there were four, four huge men were cornering me. 

Shut up! I commanded the defeatist voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn’t going out without taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent scream.  
Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into the road — this car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.

“Get in,” a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I was off the street — as soon as I heard his voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and I could barely see his face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as he spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

“Put on your seat belt,” he commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. He took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going. I stared at his face in profound relief, relief that went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied his flawless features in the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it occurred to me that his expression was murderously angry.

“Are you okay?” I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.  
“No,” he said curtly, and his tone was livid.

I sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren’t in town anymore.

“Beau?” he asked, his voice tight, controlled.  
“Yes?” My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.  
“Are you all right?” He still didn’t look at me, but the fury was plain on his face.  
“Yes,” I croaked softly.  
“Distract me, please,” he ordered.  
“I’m sorry, what?”

He exhaled sharply.

“Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down,” he clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.  
“Um.” I wracked my brain for something trivial. “I’m going to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school?”

He was still squeezing his eyes closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Why?”

“He’s telling everyone that he’s taking me to prom — either he’s insane or he’s still trying to make up for almost killing me last… well, you remember it, and he thinks prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we’re even, and he can’t keep trying to make amends. I don’t need enemies and maybe Logan would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If he doesn’t have a ride he can’t go to prom at all…” I babbled on.

“I heard about that.” He sounded a bit more composed.

“You did?” I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. “If he’s paralyzed from the neck down, she can’t go to the prom, either,” I muttered, refining my plan.  
Edward sighed, and finally opened his eyes.

“Better?”  
“Not really.”

I waited, but he didn’t speak again. He leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. His face was rigid.

“What’s wrong?” My voice came out in a whisper.

“Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Beau.” He was whispering, too, and as he stared out the window, his eyes narrowed into slits. “But it wouldn’t be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…” He didn’t finish his sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control his anger again. “At least,” he continued, “that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.”

“Oh.” The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn’t think of a better response.

We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

“Jessica and Angela will be worried,” I murmured. “I was supposed to meet them.”

He started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. He parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but he slid in effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La Bella Italia, and Jessica and Angela just leaving, pacing anxiously away from us.

“How did you know where…?” I began, but then I just shook my head. I heard the door open and turned to see him getting out.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m taking you to dinner.” He smiled slightly, but his eyes were hard. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. He was waiting for me on the sidewalk.

He spoke before I could. “Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too. I don’t think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again.”

I shivered at the threat in his voice.

“Jess! Angela!” I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.

“Where have you been?” Jessica’s voice was suspicious.

“I got lost,” I admitted sheepishly. “And then I ran into Edward.” I gestured toward him.

“Would it be all right if I joined you?” he asked in his silken, irresistible voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that he had never unleashed his talents on them before.  
“Er… sure,” Jessica stammered.

“Um, actually, Beau, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry,” Angela confessed.

“That’s fine — I’m not hungry.” I shrugged.

“I think you should eat something.” Edward’s voice was low, but full of authority. He looked up at Jessica and spoke slightly louder. “Do you mind if I drive Beau home tonight? That way you won’t have to wait while he eats.”

“Uh, no problem, I guess…” Jessica bit her lip, trying to figure out from my expression whether that was what I wanted. I smiled at her. I wanted nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There were so many questions that I couldn’t bombard him with till we were by ourselves.

“Okay.” Angela was quicker than Jessica. “See you tomorrow, Beau… Edward.” She grabbed Jessica’s hand and pulled him toward the car, which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they got in, Jessica turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face Edward.

“Honestly, I’m not hungry,” I insisted, looking up to scrutinize his face. His expression was unreadable.

“Humor me.”

He walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. I walked past him into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.  
The restaurant wasn’t crowded — it was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was female, and I understood the look in her eyes as she assessed Edward. She welcomed him a little more warmly than necessary. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. She was several inches taller than I was, and unnaturally blond.

“A table for two?” Her voice was alluring, whether she was aiming for that or not. I saw her eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied that I wasn’t a threat. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

I was about to sit, but Edward shook his head at me.

“Perhaps something more private?” he insisted quietly to the hostess. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he smoothly handed her a tip. I’d never refused a table before, or been with anyone who refused a table.

“Sure.” She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us around a partition to a small ring of booths—all of them empty. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” He flashed his gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.

“Um” — she shook her head, blinking — “your server will be right out.” She walked away unsteadily.

“You really shouldn’t do that to people,” I criticized. “It’s hardly fair.”

“Do what?”

“Dazzle them like that — she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now.”

He seemed confused.

“Oh, come on,” I said dubiously. “You have to know the effect you have on people.”

He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. “I dazzle people?”

“You haven’t noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?”

He ignored my questions. “Do I dazzle you?”

“More times than I’d care to admit.” I grumbled.

And then our server arrived, his face expectant. The hostess had definitely dished behind the scenes, and this guy didn’t look disappointed. He ran his hand through his sandy blonde curls and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

“Hello. My name is Asher, and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?” I didn’t miss that he was speaking only to Edward.

Edward looked at me.  
I glanced briefly at the drink section on the menu.

“I’ll have a… raspberry lemonade.” It sounded like a question.  
“Two please,” Edward said.

“I’ll be right back with that,” Asher assured him with another unnecessary smile. Who would have guest that the Olympic Peninsula of Washington was such a hotspot for gay guys. But Edward didn’t see it. He was watching me.

“What?” I asked when Asher left.

Edward’s eyes stayed fixed on my face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, surprised by his intensity.  
“You don’t feel dizzy, sick, cold…?”  
“Should I?”

He chuckled at my puzzled tone.

“Well, I’m actually waiting for you to go into shock.” His face twisted up into that perfect crooked smile.  
“I don’t think that will happen,” I said after I could breathe again. “I’ve always been very good at repressing unpleasant things.”  
“Just the same, I’ll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you.”

Right on cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He literally stood with his back to me as he placed them on the table.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked Edward.

“Beau?” Edward asked. Asher turned unwillingly toward me.

I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. “Um… I’ll have the mushroom ravioli.”

“And you?” Asher turned back to Edward with a smile.

“Nothing for me,” he said. Of course not.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” The coy smile was still in place, but Edward wasn’t looking at him, and he left dissatisfied.

“Drink,” he ordered.

I sipped at my lemonade obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when he pushed his glass toward me.

“Thanks,” I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy drink was radiating through my chest, and I shivered.

“Are you cold?”  
“It’s just the lemonade,” I explained, shivering again.  
“Don’t you have a jacket?” His voice was disapproving.  
“Yes.” I looked at the empty bench next to me. “Oh — I left it in Jessica’s car,” I realized.

Edward was shrugging out of his jacket. I suddenly realized that I had never once noticed what he was wearing — not just tonight, but ever. I just couldn’t seem to look away from his face. I made myself look now, focusing. He was removing a light beige leather jacket now; underneath he wore a grey v-neck sweater. It fit him snugly, emphasizing how muscular his chest was.

He handed me the jacket, interrupting my ogling.

“Thanks,” I said again, sliding my arms into his jacket. It was cold — the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled, trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn’t smell like cologne. The sleeves were much too long; I shoved them back so I could free my hands.

“That color blue looks lovely with your skin,” he said, watching me. I was surprised; I looked down, flushing, of course.

He pushed the bread basket toward me.

“Really, I’m not going into shock,” I protested.  
“You should be — a normal person would be. You don’t even look shaken.” He seemed unsettled. He stared into my eyes, and I saw how light his eyes were, lighter than I’d ever seen them, golden butterscotch.  
“I feel very safe with you,” I confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again.

That displeased him; his alabaster brow furrowed. He shook his head, frowning.

“This is more complicated than I’d planned,” he murmured to himself.

I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring his expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning him.

“Usually you’re in a better mood when your eyes are so light,” I commented, trying to distract him from whatever thought had left him frowning and somber.

He stared at me, stunned. “What?”

“You’re always crabbier when your eyes are black — I expect it then,” I went on. “I have a theory about that.”  
His eyes narrowed. “More theories?”  
“Mm-hm.” I chewed on a small bite of the bread, unable to fight a smile.  
“I hope you are more creative this time… or are you still stealing from comic books?” His faint smile was mocking; his eyes were still tight.  
“Well, no, I didn’t get it from a comic book, but I didn’t come up with it on my own, either,” I confessed.  
“And?” he prompted.

But then the waiter strode around the partition with my food. I realized we’d been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me — it looked pretty good — and turned quickly to Edward.

“Did you change your mind?” Asher asked. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” I may have been imagining the double meaning in his words.

“No, thank you, but some refills would be nice.” Edward gestured with a long white hand to the empty glasses in front of me.

“Sure.” Asher removed the empty glasses and walked away.

“You were saying?” Edward asked.

“I’ll tell you about it in the car. If…” I paused.

“There are conditions?” He raised one eyebrow, his voice ominous.

“I do have a few questions, of course.”

“Of course.”

The waiter was back with two more raspberry lemonades. He sat them down without a word this time, and left again.

I took a sip.

“Well, go ahead,” he pushed, his voice still hard.

I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. “Why are you in Port Angeles?”

He looked down, folding his large hands together slowly on the table. His eyes flickered up at me from under his lashes, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Next.”  
“But that’s the easiest one,” I objected.  
“Next,” he repeated.

I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took another bite before I looked up.

“Okay, then.” I glared at him, and continued slowly. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that… someone… could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know — with a few exceptions.”  
“Just one exception,” he corrected, “hypothetically.”

“All right, with one exception, then.” I was thrilled that he was playing along, but I tried to seem casual. “How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know that person was in trouble?” I wondered if my convoluted questions even made sense.

“Hypothetically?” he asked.  
“Sure.”  
“Well, if… that someone…”  
“Let’s call him ‘George,’” I suggested.

He smiled wryly. “George, then. If George had been paying attention, the timing wouldn’t have needed to be quite so exact.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know.”

“We were speaking of a hypothetical case,” I reminded him frostily.

He laughed at me, his eyes warm.

“Yes, we were,” he agreed. “Shall we call you ‘Alex’?”

“How did you know?” I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I was leaning toward him again.

He seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. His eyes locked with mine, and I guessed he was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell me the truth.

“You can trust me, you know,” I murmured. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch his folded hands, but he slid them away minutely, and I pulled my hand back, slightly embarrassed.

“I don’t know if I have a choice anymore.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I was wrong — you’re much more observant than I gave you credit for.”

“I thought you were always right.”

“I used to be.” He shook his head again. “I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You’re not a magnet for accidents — that’s not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you.”

“And you put yourself into that category?” I guessed.

His face turned cold, expressionless. “Unequivocally.”

I stretched my hand across the table again — ignoring him when he pulled back slightly once more — to touch the back of his hand shyly with my fingertips. His skin was cold and hard, like a stone.  
“Thank you.” My voice was fervent with gratitude. “That’s twice now.”

His face softened. “Let’s not try for three, agreed?”

I scowled, but nodded. He moved his hand out from under mine, placing both of his under the table. But he leaned toward me.

“I followed you to Port Angeles,” he admitted, speaking in a rush. “I’ve never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it’s much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that’s probably just because it’s you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes.” He paused. I wondered if it should bother me that he was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of pleasure. He stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

“Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you’ve been interfering with fate?” I speculated, distracting myself.

“That wasn’t the first time,” he said, and his voice was hard to hear. I stared at him in amazement, but he was looking down. “Your number was up the first time I met you.”  
I felt a spasm of fear at his words, and the abrupt memory of his violent black glare that first day… but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in his presence stifled it. By the time he looked up to read my eyes, there was no trace of fear in them.

“You remember?” he asked, his angel’s face grave.  
“Yes.” I was calm.  
“And yet here you sit.” There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; he raised one eyebrow.  
“Yes, here I sit… because of you.” I paused. “Because somehow you knew how to find me today…?” I prompted.

He pressed his lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes, deciding again. His eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to me.

“You eat, I’ll talk,” he bargained.

I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth. I would have to try and duplicate the recipe when I got home.

“It’s harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I’ve heard their mind before.” He looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.

“I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully — like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles — and at first I didn’t notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren’t with him anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in his head. I could tell that you hadn’t gone in, and that you’d gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street — to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious.…” He was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn’t imagine.

“I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then —” He stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort to calm himself.

“Then what?” I whispered. He continued to stare over my head.

“I heard what they were thinking,” he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth. “I saw your face in his mind.” He suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, his hand covering his eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.

“It was very… hard — you can’t imagine how hard — for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive.” His voice was muffled by his arm. “I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them,” he admitted in a whisper.

I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. He still had his face in his hand, and he was as still as if he’d been  
carved from the stone his skin resembled. I looked down and finished off the rest of the mushroom ravioli.

Finally we both looked up, his eyes seeking mine, full of his own questions.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“I’m ready to leave,” I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him.

The waiter appeared as if he’d been called. Or watching.

“How are we doing?” he asked Edward.

“We’re ready for the check, thank you.” Edward’s voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle the waiter. Edward looked up, waiting.

“S-sure,” Asher stuttered. “Here you go.” He pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of his black apron and handed it to Edward.

There was a bill in his hand already. He slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to Asher.

“No change.” Edward smiled. Then he stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet.

Asher smiled invitingly at him again. “You have a nice evening.”

Edward didn’t look away from me as he thanked him. I suppressed a smile. Sorry Asher, he’s not interested.

He walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I remembered what Jessica had always said about her non-relationship with Mike, how she suspected they were almost at the first kiss  
stage despite Mike not desiring her at all. I sighed. Edward seemed to hear me, and he looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk, grateful that he didn’t seem to be able to know what I was thinking.

He opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in, shutting it softly behind me. I watched him walk around the front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful he was. I probably should have been used to that by now — but I wasn’t. I had a feeling Edward wasn’t the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, he started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an end. I was warm in his jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when I thought he couldn’t see.

Edward pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the freeway.

“Now,” he said significantly. “It’s your turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote chapters 7 & 8 close together, and both are long, so I'll propably take a short break. Make sure to leave a comment if you like, as well as kudos!!!


	9. Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter, but still very informative and entertaining. Enjoy!

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-

“Can I ask just one more?” I pleaded as Edward accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the road.

He sighed.

“One,” he agreed. His lips pressed together into a cautious line.  
“Well… you said you knew I hadn’t gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that.”

He looked away, deliberating.

“I thought we were past all the evasiveness,” I grumbled.

He almost smiled.

“Fine, then. I followed your scent.” He looked at the road, giving me time to compose my face. I couldn’t think of an acceptable response to that, but I filed it carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus. I wasn’t ready to let him be finished, now that he was finally explaining things.

“And then you didn’t answer one of my first questions…” I stalled.

He looked at me with disapproval. “Which one?”

“How does it work — the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody’s mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family…?” I felt silly, asking for clarification on make-believe. 

“That’s more than one,” he pointed out. I simply intertwined my fingers and gazed at him, waiting.

“No, it’s just me. And I can’t hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone’s… ‘voice’ is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles.” He paused thoughtfully. “It’s a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It’s just a hum — a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they’re thinking is clear.”

“Most of the time I tune it all out — it can be very distracting. And then it’s easier to seem normal” — he frowned as he said the word — “when I’m not accidentally answering someone’s thoughts rather than their words.”

“Why do you think you can’t hear me?” I asked curiously.

He looked at me, his eyes enigmatic.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn’t work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I’m only getting FM.” He grinned at me, suddenly amused.

“My mind doesn’t work right? I’m a freak?” The words bothered me more than they should — probably because his speculation hit home. I’d always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed.

“I hear voices in my mind and you’re worried that you’re the freak,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s just a theory.…” His face tightened. “Which brings us back to you.”

I sighed. How to begin?

“Aren’t we past all the evasions now?” he reminded me softly.

I looked away from his face for the first time, trying to find words. I happened to notice the speedometer.

“Holy shit!” I shouted. “Slow down!”  
“What’s wrong?” He was startled. But the car didn’t decelerate.

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour!” I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wal l— as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

“Relax, Beau.” He rolled his eyes, still not slowing.  
“Are you trying to kill us?” I demanded.  
“We’re not going to crash.”  
I tried to modulate my voice. “Why are you in such a hurry?”  
“I always drive like this.” He turned to smile crookedly at me.  
“Keep your eyes on the road!”  
“I’ve never been in an accident, Beau — I’ve never even gotten a ticket.” He grinned and tapped his forehead. “Built-in radar detector.”

“Very funny.” I fumed. “Charlie’s a cop, remember? Abiding traffic laws was drilled into my head from a young age. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away.”  
“Probably,” he agreed with a short, hard laugh. “But you can’t.” He sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. “Happy?”  
“Almost.”  
“I hate driving slow,” he muttered.  
“This is slow?”  
“Enough commentary on my driving,” he snapped. “I’m still waiting for your latest theory.”

I bit my lip. He looked down at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

“I won’t laugh,” he promised.  
“I’m more afraid that you’ll be angry with me.”  
“Is it that bad?”  
“Pretty much, yeah.”

He waited. I was looking down at my hands, so I couldn’t see his expression.

“Go ahead.” His voice was calm.  
“I don’t know how to start,” I admitted.  
“Why don’t you start at the beginning… you said you didn’t come up with this on your own.”  
“No.”  
“What got you started — a book? A movie?” he probed.  
“No — it was Saturday, at the beach.” I risked a glance up at his face. He looked puzzled.  
“I ran into an old family friend — Jacob Black,” I continued. “His dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby.”

He still looked confused.

“His dad is one of the Quileute elders.” I watched him carefully. His confused expression froze in place. “We went for a walk —” I edited all my scheming out of the story “— and he was telling me some old legends — trying to scare me, I think. He told me one…” I hesitated.

“Go on,” he said.

“About vampires.” I realized I was whispering. I couldn’t look at his face now. But I saw his knuckles tighten convulsively on the wheel.  
“And you immediately thought of me?” Still calm.  
“No. He… mentioned your family.”

He was silent, staring at the road.

I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting Jacob.

“He just thought it was a silly superstition,” I said quickly. “He didn’t expect me to think anything of it.” It didn’t seem like enough; I had to confess. “It was my fault, I forced him to tell me.”

“Why?”

“Logan said something about you — he was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn’t come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So I got Jacob alone and I tricked it out of him,” I admitted, hanging my head.

He startled me by laughing. I glared up at him. He was laughing, but his eyes were fierce, staring ahead.

“Tricked him how?” he asked.

“I tried to flirt — it worked better than I thought it would.” Disbelief colored my tone as I remembered.

“I’d like to have seen that.” He chuckled darkly. “And you accused me of dazzling people — poor Jacob Black.”

I blushed and looked out my window into the night.

“What did you do then?” he asked after a minute.  
“I did some research on the Internet.”  
“And did that convince you?” His voice sounded barely interested. But his hands were clamped hard onto the steering wheel.  
“No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…” I stopped. 

“What?” 

“I decided it didn’t matter,” I whispered.

“It didn’t matter?” His tone made me look up—I had finally broken through his carefully composed mask. His face was incredulous, with just a hint of the anger I’d feared.  
“No,” I said softly. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are.”

A hard, mocking edge entered his voice. “You don’t care if I’m a monster? If I’m not human?”

“No.”

He was silent, staring straight ahead again. His face was bleak and cold.

“You’re angry,” I sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” he said, but his tone was as hard as his face. “I’d rather know what you’re thinking—even if what you’re thinking is insane.”

“So I’m wrong again?” I challenged.

“That’s not what I was referring to. ‘It doesn’t matter’!” he quoted, gritting his teeth together.  
“I’m right?” I gasped.  
“Does it matter?”

I took a deep breath.

“Not really.” I paused. “But I am curious.” My voice, at least, was composed.

He was suddenly resigned. “What are you curious about?”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he answered promptly.

“And how long have you been seventeen?”

His lips twitched as he stared at the road. “A while,” he admitted at last.

“Okay.” I smiled, pleased that he was still being honest with me. He stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as he had before, when he was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in  
encouragement, and he frowned.

“Don’t laugh — but how can you come out during the daytime?”

He laughed anyway. “Myth.”  
“Burned by the sun?”  
“Myth.”  
“Sleeping in coffins?”  
“Myth.” He hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered his voice. “I can’t sleep.”

It took me a minute to absorb that. “At all?”

“Never,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “I can lay down, close my eyes, and tune everything out, but I can’t truly fall asleep.” He turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at him until he looked away.

“You haven’t asked me the most important question yet.” His voice was hard now, and when he looked at me again his eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. “Which one is that?”

“You aren’t concerned about my diet?” he asked sarcastically.  
“Oh,” I murmured, “that.”  
“Yes, that.” His voice was bleak. “Don’t you want to know if I drink blood?”

I flinched. “Well, Jacob said something about that.”

“What did Jacob say?” he asked flatly.

“He said you didn’t… hunt people. He said your family wasn’t supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals.”

“He said we weren’t dangerous?” His voice was deeply skeptical.

“Not exactly. He said you weren’t supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn’t want you on their land, just in case.”

He looked forward, but I couldn’t tell if he was watching the road or not.

“So was he right? About not hunting people?” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

“The Quileutes have a long memory,” he whispered.

I took it as a confirmation.

“Don’t let that make you complacent, though,” he warned me. “They’re right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“We try,” he explained slowly. “We’re usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you.”  
“This is a mistake?” I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn’t know if he could as well.  
“A very dangerous one,” he murmured.

We were both silent then. I watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road. They moved too fast; it didn’t look real, it looked like a video game. I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath us, and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again — openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn’t waste one minute I had with him.

“Tell me more,” I asked desperately, not caring what he said, just so I could hear his voice again.

He looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. “What more do you want to know?”

“Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people,” I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. I realized my eyes were wet, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

“I don’t want to be a monster.” His voice was very low.

I swooned just a little.

“But animals aren’t enough?”

He paused. “I can’t be sure, of course, but I’d compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn’t completely satiate the hunger — or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time.” His tone turned ominous. “Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

“Are you weaker than the ones that drink human blood?”

“No. Sometimes they have even less control than us.”

“Is it very difficult for you now?” I asked.

He sighed. “Yes.”

“But you’re not hungry now,” I said confidently — stating, not asking.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I’ve noticed that people — men in particular — are crabbier when they’re hungry.”

He chuckled. “You are observant, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer; I just listened to the sound of his laugh, committing it to memory.

“Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?” I asked when it was quiet again.

“Yes.” He paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.”

“Why didn’t you want to leave?”

“It makes me… anxious… to be away from you.” His eyes were gentle but intense, and they seemed to be making my bones turn soft. “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I’m surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed.” He shook his head, and then seemed to remember something. “Well, not totally unscathed.”

“What?”  
“Your hands,” he reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. His eyes missed nothing.  
“I fell,” I sighed.  
“That’s what I thought.” His lips curved up at the corners. “I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse — and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett’s nerves.” He smiled ruefully at me.

“Three days? Didn’t you just get back today?”  
“No, we got back Sunday.”

“Then why weren’t any of you in school?” I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered because of his absence.  
“Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn’t. But I can’t go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see.”  
“Why?”  
“I’ll show you sometime,” he promised.

I thought about it for a moment.

“You might have called me,” I decided.

He was puzzled. “But I knew you were safe.”

“But I didn’t know where you were. I —” I hesitated, dropping my eyes.  
“What?” His velvety voice was compelling.  
“I didn’t like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too.” I blushed to be saying this out loud.

He was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained.

“Ah,” he groaned quietly. “This is wrong.”

I couldn’t understand his response. “What did I say?”

“Don’t you see, Beau? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.” He turned his anguished eyes to the road, his words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. “I don’t want to hear that you feel that way.” His voice was low but urgent. His words cut me. “It’s wrong. It’s not safe. I’m dangerous, Beau — please, grasp that.”

“No.” I tried very hard not to look like a sulky child.  
“I’m serious,” he growled.  
“So am I. I told you, it doesn’t matter what you are. It’s too late.”

His voice whipped out, low and harsh. “Never say that.”

I bit my lip and was glad he couldn’t know how much that hurt. I stared out at the road. We must be close now. He was driving much too fast.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward.

“Are you crying?” He sounded appalled. I hadn’t realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me.

“No,” I said, but my voice cracked. Dammit!

I saw him reach toward me hesitantly with his right hand, but then he stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry.” His voice burned with regret. I knew he wasn’t just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

“Tell me something,” he asked after another minute, and I could hear him struggle to use a lighter tone.

“Yes?”

“What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn’t understand your expression — you didn’t look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something.”

“I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker — you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain.” I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

“You were going to fight them?” This upset him greatly. “Didn’t you think about running?”  
“I fall down a lot when I run,” I admitted.  
“What about screaming for help?”  
“I was getting to that part.”

He shook his head. “You were right — I’m definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive.”  
I sighed. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken only twenty minutes. His crazy driving meant we couldn’t have a longer conversation.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” I demanded.  
“Yes — I have a paper due, too.” He smiled. “I’ll save you a seat at lunch.”

It was silly, after everything we’d been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and made me unable to speak.

We were in front of Charlie’s house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. He stopped the car, but I didn’t move.

“Do you promise to be there tomorrow?”  
“I promise.”

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. I pulled his jacket off, taking one last whiff.

“You can keep it — you don’t have a jacket for tomorrow,” he reminded me.

I handed it back to him. “I don’t want to have to explain to Charlie.”

“Oh, right.” He grinned.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

“Beau?” he asked in a different tone — serious, but hesitant.  
“Yes?” I turned back to him too eagerly.  
“Will you promise me something?”

“Yes,” I said, and instantly regretted my unconditional agreement. What if he asked me to stay away from him? I couldn’t keep that promise.

“Don’t go into the woods alone.”

I stared at him in blank confusion. “Why?”

He frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past me out the window.

“I’m not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let’s leave it at that.”

I shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in his voice, but I was relieved. This, at least, was an easy promise to honor. “Whatever you say.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he sighed, and I knew he wanted me to leave now.  
“Tomorrow, then.” I opened the door unwillingly.

“Beau?” I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

“Sleep well,” he said. His breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. He leaned away.  
I was unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. I thought I heard him chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain.

He waited till I had stumbled to the front door, and then I heard his engine quietly rev. I turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner. I realized it was very cold.

I reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Charlie called from the living room. “Beau?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.” I walked in to see him. He was watching a baseball game.  
“You’re home early.”  
“Am I?” I was surprised.  
“It’s not even nine yet,” he told me. “Did you guys have fun?”  
“Yeah — it was lots of fun.” My head was spinning as I tried to remember all the way back to the friends’ night out I had planned. “They both found great dresses to wear.”

“Are you all right?”  
“I’m just tired. I did a lot of walking.”  
“Well, maybe you should go lie down.” He sounded concerned. I wondered what my face looked like.  
“I’m just going to call Jessica first.”  
“Weren’t you just with her?” he asked, surprised.  
“Yes — but I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow.”  
“Well, give her a chance to get home first.”  
“Right,” I agreed.

I went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. I was really feeling dizzy now. I wondered if I was going to go into shock after all. Get a grip, I told myself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I yanked it off the hook.

“Hello?” I asked breathlessly.  
“Beau?”  
“Hey, Jess, I was just going to call you.”  
“You made it home?” Her voice was relieved… and surprised. 

“Yes. I left my jacket in your car — could you bring it to me tomorrow?”  
“Sure. But tell me what happened!” she demanded.  
“Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?”

She caught on quickly. “Oh, is your dad there?”

“Yes, that’s right.”  
“Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!” I could hear the impatience in her voice.  
“Bye, Jess.”

I walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding my mind. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what I was doing. It wasn’t until I was in the shower — the water gloriously hot, burning my skin — that I realized I was freezing. I shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax my rigid muscles. Then I stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the hot water began to run out.

I stumbled out, wrapping myself securely in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in so the aching shivers wouldn’t return. I dressed for bed swiftly and climbed under my quilt, curling into a ball, hugging myself to keep warm. A few small shudders trembled through me.

My mind still swirled dizzily, full of images I couldn’t understand, and some I fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as I fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things I was absolutely positive. 

First, Edward was a vampire. 

Second, there was part of him — and I didn’t know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for my blood. 

And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment if you have a question or spotted an error. Kudos are always very appreciated as well.


	10. Interrogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up....
> 
> I do not own Twilight at all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 10, enjoy.

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-

It was very hard, in the morning, to argue with the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn’t on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn’t have imagined — like his smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. He had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn’t have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Charlie was gone again — I was running later than I’d realized. I devoured a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with what was left of the orange juice, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find Jessica.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn’t wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.  
I didn’t see where he came from, but suddenly he was there, pulling the door open for me.

“Do you want to ride with me today?” he asked, amused by my expression as he caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in his voice. He was really giving me a choice — I was free to refuse, and part of him hoped for that. It was a vain hope.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed his tan jacket was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, he was sitting next to me, starting the car.

“I brought the jacket for you. I didn’t want you to get sick or something.” His voice was guarded. I noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with short sleeves. I was about to comment on whether or not he was cold in short sleeves, but then I remembered that he doesn’t get cold, he is perpetually cold. Both fortunately and unfortunately for me, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. It was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body.

“I’m not quite that delicate,” I said, but I pulled the jacket onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.

“Aren’t you?” he contradicted in a voice so low I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down… almost all. I didn’t know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for him to speak.

He turned to smirk at me. “What, no twenty questions today?”

“Do my questions bother you?” I asked, relieved.

“Not as much as your reactions do.” He looked like he was joking, but I couldn’t be sure.

I frowned. “Do I react badly?”

“No, that’s the problem. You take everything so coolly — it’s unnatural. It makes me wonder what you’re really thinking.”

“I always tell you what I’m really thinking.”  
“You edit,” he accused.  
“Not very much.”  
“Enough to drive me insane.”

“You don’t want to hear it,” I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope he hadn’t noticed it.

He didn’t respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. His face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.

“Where’s the rest of your family?” I asked — more than glad to be alone with him, but remembering that his car was usually full.

“They took Rosalie’s car.” He shrugged as he parked next to a glossy red convertible with the top up. “Ostentatious, isn’t it?”

“Um, wow,” I breathed. “If she has that, why does she ride with you?”

“Like I said, it’s ostentatious. We try to blend in.”

“You don’t succeed.” I laughed and shook my head as we got out of the car. I wasn’t late anymore; his lunatic driving had gotten me to school in plenty of time. “So why did Rosalie drive today if it’s more  
conspicuous?”

“Hadn’t you noticed? I’m breaking all the rules now.” He met me at the front of the car, staying very close to my side as we walked onto campus. I wanted to close that little distance, to reach out and touch him, but I was afraid he wouldn’t like me to.

“Why do you have cars like that at all?” I wondered aloud. “If you’re looking for privacy?”

“An indulgence,” he admitted with an impish smile. “We all like to drive fast.”

“Figures,” I muttered under my breath.

Under the shelter of the cafeteria roof’s overhang, Jessica was waiting, her eyes about to bug out of their sockets. Over her arm, thankfully, was my jacket.

“Hey, Jess,” I said when we were a few feet away. “Thanks for remembering.” She handed me my jacket without speaking.

“Good morning, Jessica,” Edward said politely. It wasn’t really his fault that his voice was so irresistible. Or what his eyes were capable of — it definitely worked on Jessica.

“Er… hi.” Jessica shifted her wide eyes to me, trying to gather her jumbled thoughts. “I guess I’ll see you in Trig.” She gave me a meaningful look, and I suppressed a sigh. What on earth was I going to tell her?

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

She walked away, pausing twice to peek back over her shoulder at us.

“What are you going to tell her?” Edward murmured.

“Hey, I thought you couldn’t read my mind!” I hissed.

“I can’t,” he said, startled. Then understanding brightened his eyes.

“However, I can read hers — she’ll be waiting to ambush you in class.”

I groaned as I pulled off his jacket and handed it to him, replacing it with my own. He folded it over his arm.

“So what are you going to tell her?”

“A little help?” I pleaded. “What does she want to know?”

He shook his head, grinning wickedly. “That’s not fair.”

“No, you not sharing what you know — now that’s not fair.” 

“What, does she think you barebacked me in the back of your car after they left?”

I froze immediately after the words left my mouth. What is wrong with me?

To my intense relief, Edward laughed. “That thought did cross her mind actually,” he said with a wicked grin. “But I am a gentlemen, everyone knows that, so she dismissed that thought rather quickly.”  
I decided to just move forward, leave the embarrassing slip in the past.

“So what does she want to know?”

He deliberated for a moment as we walked. We stopped outside the door to my first class.

“She wants to know if we’re secretly dating. And if you really like me,” he finally said. “She also wants to know if you would be the top or bottom, but she’s not going to ask you that. Like I said, she knows I’m a gentlemen and would never try anything on the first date.”

I gulped. “Yikes. What should I say?” I tried to keep my expression very innocent. People were passing us on their way to class, probably staring, but I was barely aware of them.

“Hmmm.” He paused to catch a stray lock of hair and tucked it back into place. My heart spluttered hyperactively. “I suppose you could say yes to the first… if you don’t mind — it’s easier than any other explanation. And, we did technically go on a date last night.” He said this last part with a disarming smirk.

“I don’t mind,” I said in a faint voice.

“And as for the top or bottom question, well, you’ll just have to let me know about that one yourself.” He grinned once more. I nearly fell over from dazzlement, but he shot his hand out and steady me barely a second after I stumbled.He brushed of my shoulders, and then turned and walked away.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he called over his shoulder. Three people walking in the door stopped to stare at me.

I hurried into class, flushed and irritated. He was such a cheater. Now I was even more worried about what I was going to say to Jessica. I sat in my usual seat, slamming my bag down in aggravation.

“Morning, Beau,” Mike said from the seat next to me. I looked up to see an odd, almost resigned look on his face. “How was Port Angeles?”

“It was…” There was no honest way to sum it up. “Great,” I finished lamely. “Jessica was pretty salty but… I think she’ll be okay, and she’s off your back now at least.” 

“Haha, poor Jess. Well, if she knew how to take a hint, she would have been spared from all of this.”

I smiled for his benefit. Inside, I laughed. Mike was the last person to complain about someone not taking hints. Although to be fair, me ogling him in the locker room probably wasn’t sending the strongest “not interested” hints.

Mr. Mason called the class to order then, asking us to turn in our papers. English and then Government passed in a blur, while I worried about how to explain things to Jessica and agonized over whether Edward would really be listening to what I said through the medium of Jessica’s thoughts. How very inconvenient his little talent could be — when it wasn’t saving my life.

The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.

Edward was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly vibrating in her seat with agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Tell me everything!” she commanded before I was even in my seat.  
“What do you want to know?” I hedged.  
“What happened last night?”  
“He bought me dinner, and then he drove me home.”

She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. “How did you get home so fast?”

“He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying.” I hoped Edward heard that.  
“Was it like a date — did you tell him to meet you there?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “No — I was very surprised to see him there.”

Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice.

“What about this morning, though? You were still with him.”

“Still? No! What — you thought he was with me all night?”

“He wasn’t?”  
“No.”  
“But you were in his car—”

“He picked me up for school this morning. That was a surprise, too. He noticed I didn’t have a jacket last night,” I explained.

“So are you going out again?”

“We’re going to Seattle together in a week, he’s driving because he doesn’t think my truck is up to snuff. Does that count?”

“Definitely.” She nodded. 

“Well, then, yes.”

“W-o-w.” She exaggerated the word into three syllables. “Edward Cullen.”

“I know,” I agreed. “Wow” didn’t begin to cover it.

“I didn’t even know he was gay, or bi or whatever.” 

“Neither did I at first.” I was confident Edward wasn’t straight, so I wasn’t too nervous about sharing this information.

“Wait!” Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. “Has he kissed you?”

“No,” I mumbled. “He hasn’t kissed me.”

She actually looked disappointed. I’m sure I did, too.

“Do you think Saturday…?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I really doubt it.” The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.

“What did you talk about?” She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn’t paying close attention and we weren’t the only ones still talking.

“I don’t know, Jess, lots of stuff,” I whispered back. “We talked about the English essay a little.” A very, very little. I think he mentioned it in passing.

“Please, Beau,” she begged. “Give me some details.”

“Well… okay, I’ve got one. You should have seen the waiter flirting with him — it was over the top. But Edward didn’t pay any attention to him at all.”

“That’s a good sign,” she nodded. “Was he good-looking?”

“Yeah — and probably nineteen or twenty.”

“Even better. He must like you.”

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell. He’s always so cryptic,” I threw in for Edward’s benefit, sighing.

“I don’t know how you’re brave enough to be alone with him,” she muttered.

“Why?” I was shocked, but she didn’t understand my reaction

“He’s so… intimidating.” She made a face, looking a little embarrassed. “Is he gonna start hanging out with us? I never know what to say to him.”

“I do have some trouble with incoherency when I’m around him,” I admitted, sidestepping the question.

“Oh well. He is totally loaded.” Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did. “Not to mention that he’s unbelievably gorgeous.”

“There’s a lot more to him than that.”

“Really? Like what?”

I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping Edward had been kidding about listening in.

“I can’t explain it right… but he’s even more unbelievable behind the face.” The vampire who wanted to be good — who ran around saving people’s lives so he wouldn’t be a monster… I stared toward the front of the room.

Jessica giggled. “Is that possible?”

I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner.

“So you’re into him, then?” She wasn’t about to give up.  
“Yes,” I said curtly. I wish I had a less insipid friend to talk to about boys, Jessica only cared about looks. “I mean, you’re really into him?” Jessica urged.  
“Yes,” I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn’t register in her thoughts.

She’d had enough with the single syllable answers. “How much do you like him?”

“Too much,” I whispered back. “More than he likes me. But I don’t see how I can help that.” I sighed, one blush blending into the next.

Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer.

She didn’t get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.

“So who are you planning to ambush at the dance? Still set on Tyler? Logan probably won’t take that well.”

She seemed to be happy that the attention was now on her, despite her previous desperation to learn more about Edward and I’s evening together.

“Yeah, I still think I’m going for Tyler, Logan can deal, he hasn’t made any claim on Tyler so it’s fair game.” She continued to prattle as we walked through the halls to our next classes. “I might go after Ben though, he’s a real hottie!” We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on possible revenge plans Logan would concoct. I wouldn’t have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn’t worried about the subject returning to me.

And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Jessica off.

“You’re not sitting with us today, are you?” She guessed.

“I don’t think so.” I couldn’t be sure that Edward wouldn’t disappear inconveniently again.

But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the wall — looking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right to — Edward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled his eyes, and departed.

“See you later, Beau.” Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.

“Hello.” Edward’s voice was amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, it was obvious.

“Hi.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he didn’t speak — biding his time, I presumed — so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.

He led the way into the line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in his face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.

He stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.

“What are you doing?” I objected. “You’re not getting all that for me?”

He shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food.

“Half is for me, of course.”

I raised one eyebrow.

He led the way to the same place we’d sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Edward seemed oblivious.

“Take whatever you want,” he said, pushing the tray toward me.

“I’m curious,” I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, “what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?”

“You’re always curious.” He grimaced, shaking his head. He glared at me, holding my eyes as he lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.

“If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn’t you?” he asked condescendingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But, would food taste as bad to you as a dirt would to me?”

“Probably not, but I wouldn’t love it either.”

He laughed. Then something over my shoulder seemed to catch his attention.

“Jessica’s analyzing everything I do — she’ll break it down for you later.” He pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features.

I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing he was about to start.

“So the waiter was attractive, was he?” he asked casually.

“In a objective way, not really my type. You really didn’t notice?”

“No. I wasn’t paying attention. I had a lot on my mind.”

“Poor guy.” I could afford to be generous now.

“Something you said to Jessica… well, it bothers me.” He refused to be distracted. His voice was husky, and he glanced up from under his lashes with troubled eyes.

“I’m not surprised you heard something you didn’t like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers,” I reminded him.

“I warned you I would be listening.”

“And I warned you that you didn’t want to know everything I was thinking.”

“You did,” he agreed, but his voice was still rough. “You aren’t precisely right, though. I do want to know what you’re thinking — everything. I just wish… that you wouldn’t be thinking some things.”

I scowled. “That’s quite a distinction.”

“But that’s not really the point at the moment.”

“Then what is?” We were inclined toward each other across the table now. He had his large white hands folded under his chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.

“Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?” he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.

I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.

“You’re doing it again,” I muttered.

His eyes opened wide with surprise. “What?”

“Dazzling me,” I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him.

“Oh.” He frowned.

“It’s not your fault,” I sighed. “You can’t help it.”

“Are you going to answer the question?”

I looked down. “Yes.”

“Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?” He was irritated again.

“Yes, I really think that.” I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break  
it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at his expression.

Finally he spoke, voice velvet soft. “You’re wrong.”

I glanced up to see that his eyes were gentle.

“You can’t know that,” I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at his words and I wanted so badly to believe them.  
“What makes you think so?” His liquid topaz eyes were penetrating — trying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind.

I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of his face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see him getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, he started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.

“Let me think,” I insisted. His expression cleared, now that he was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.

“Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes…” I hesitated. “I can’t be sure — I don’t know how to read minds — but sometimes it seems like you’re trying to say goodbye when you’re saying something else.” That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that his words triggered in me at times.

“Perceptive,” he whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as he confirmed my fear. “That’s exactly why you’re wrong, though,” he began to explain, but then his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘the obvious’?”

“Well, look at me,” I said, unnecessarily as he was already staring. “I’m absolutely ordinary — well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and the clinical clumsiness. And look at you.” I waved my hand toward him and all his bewildering perfection.

His brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as his eyes took on a knowing look. “You don’t see yourself very clearly, you know. I’ll admit you’re dead-on about the bad things,” he chuckled blackly, “but you didn’t hear what half the student body was thinking on your first day.”

I blinked, astonished. “I don’t believe it…” I mumbled to myself, thinking back to what Jessica had said at the department store — every girl in school.

“Trust me just this once — you are the opposite of ordinary.”

My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into his eyes when he said this. I quickly reminded him of my original argument.

“But I’m not saying goodbye,” I pointed out.

“Don’t you see? That’s what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it” — he shook his head, seeming to struggle with the thought — “if leaving is the right thing to do, then I’ll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe.”

I glared. “And you don’t think I would do the same?”

“You’d never have to make the choice.”

Abruptly, his unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged his features. “Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence.”

“No one has tried to do away with me today,” I reminded him, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn’t want him to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep him close.… I banished that thought before his quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.

“Yet,” he added.

“Yet,” I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted him to be expecting disasters.

“I have another question for you.” His face was still casual.

“Shoot.”

“Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?”

I made a face at the memory. “You know, I haven’t forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet,” I warned him. “It’s your fault that he’s deluded herself into thinking I’m going to prom with him.”

“Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me — I just really wanted to watch your face,” he chuckled. I would have been angrier if his laughter wasn’t so fascinating. “If I’d asked you, would you have turned me down?” he asked, still laughing to himself.

“Probably not,” I admitted. “But I would have canceled later — faked an illness or a sprained ankle.”

He was puzzled. “Why would you do that?”

I shook my head sadly. “You’ve never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand.”

“Are you referring to the fact that you can’t walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?”

“Obviously.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem.” He was very confident. “It’s all in the leading.” He could see that I was about to protest, and he cut me off. “But you never told me — are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?”

As long as the “we” part was in, I didn’t care about anything else.

“I’m open to alternatives,” I allowed. “But I do have a favor to ask.”

He looked wary, as he always did when I asked an open-ended question. “What?

“Can I drive?”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Well, mostly because when I told Charlie I was going to Seattle, he specifically asked if I was going alone and, at the time, I was. If he asked again, I probably wouldn’t lie, but I don’t think he will ask again, and leaving my truck at home would just bring up the subject unnecessarily. And also, because your driving frightens me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving.” He shook his head in disgust, but then his eyes were serious again. “Won’t you want to tell your father that you’re spending the day with me?” There was an undercurrent to his question that I didn’t understand.

“He knows I’m gay if that’s what you’re wondering. But with Charlie, less is always more.” I was definite about that. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“The weather will be nice, so I’ll be staying out of the public eye… and you can stay with me, if you’d like to.” Again, he was leaving the choice up to me.

“And you’ll show me what you meant, about the sun?” I asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another of the unknowns.

“Yes.” He smiled, and then paused. “But if you don’t want to be… alone with me, I’d still rather you didn’t go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size.”

I was miffed. “Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle — just in population. In physical size —”

“But apparently,” he interrupted me, “your number wasn’t up in Phoenix. So I’d rather you stayed near me.” His eyes did that unfair smoldering thing again.

I couldn’t argue, with the eyes or the motivation, and it was a moot point anyway. “As it happens, I don’t mind being alone with you.”

“I know,” he sighed, brooding. “You should tell Charlie, though — you don’t even need to get into the details of our… relationship.”

“Why in the world would I do that?”

His eyes were suddenly fierce. “To give me some small incentive to bring you back.”

I gulped. But, after a moment of thought, I was sure. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

He exhaled angrily, and looked away.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked. He was still annoyed.

I glanced around us, making sure we were well out of anyone’s hearing. As I cast my eyes around the room, I caught the eyes of his sister, Alice, staring at me. The others were looking at Edward. I looked away swiftly, back to him, and I asked the first thing that came to mind.

“Why did you go to that Goat Rocks place last weekend… to hunt? Charlie said it wasn’t a good place to hike, because of bears.”

He stared at me as if I was missing something very obvious.

“Bears?” I gasped, and he smirked. “You know, bears are not in season,” I added sternly, to hide my shock.

“If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons,” he informed me.

He watched my face with enjoyment as that slowly sank in.

“Bears?” I repeated with difficulty.

“Grizzly is Emmett’s favorite.” His voice was still off-hand, but his eyes were scrutinizing my reaction. I tried to pull myself together.

“Hmmm,” I said, taking another bite of pizza as an excuse to look down. I chewed slowly, and then took a long drink of Coke without looking up.

“So,” I said after a moment, finally meeting his now-anxious gaze. “What’s your favorite?”

He raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval. “Mountain lion.”

“Ah,” I said in a politely disinterested tone, looking for my soda again.

“Of course,” he said, and his tone mirrored mine, “we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators — ranging as far away as we need. There’s always plenty of deer and elk here, and they’ll do, but where’s the fun in that?” He smiled teasingly.

“Where indeed,” I murmured around another bite of pizza.

“Early spring is Emmett’s favorite bear season — they’re just coming out of hibernation, so they’re more irritable.” He smiled at some remembered joke.

“Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear,” I agreed, nodding.

He snickered, shaking his head. “Tell me what you’re really thinking, please.”

“I’m trying to picture it — but I can’t,” I admitted. “How do you hunt a bear without weapons?”

“Oh, we have weapons.” He flashed his bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. I fought back a shiver before it could expose me. “Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you’ve ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting.”

I couldn’t stop the next shiver that flashed down my spine. I peeked across the cafeteria toward Emmett, grateful that he wasn’t looking my way. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now.

Edward followed my gaze and chuckled. I stared at him, unnerved.

“Are you like a bear, too?” I asked in a low voice.

“More like the lion, or so they tell me,” he said lightly. “Perhaps our preferences are indicative.”

I tried to smile. “Perhaps,” I repeated. But my mind was filled with opposing images that I couldn’t merge together. “Is that something I might get to see?”

“Absolutely not!” His face turned even whiter than usual, and his eyes were suddenly furious. I leaned back, stunned and — though I’d never admit it to him — frightened by his reaction. He leaned back as well, folding his arms across his chest.

“Too scary for me?” I asked when I could control my voice again.

“If that were it, I would take you out tonight,” he said, his voice cutting. “You need a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you.”

“Then why?” I pressed, trying to ignore his angry expression.

He glared at me for a long minute.

“Later,” he finally said. He was on his feet in one lithe movement. “We’re going to be late.”

I glanced around, startled to see that he was right and the cafeteria was nearly vacant. When I was with him, the time and the place were such a muddled blur that I completely lost track of both. I jumped up, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair.

“Later, then,” I agreed. I wouldn’t forget.


	11. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little longer to update, I had college stuff.

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-

Everyone stared at us as we walked together to our lab table.

I noticed that he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the desk would allow. Instead, he sat quite close beside me, our arms almost touching.  
Mr. Banner backed into the room then — what superb timing the man had — pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdated TV and VCR. A movie day — the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible.

Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wall to turn off the lights without any introduction.

And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyper-aware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind.

The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes, of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realized his posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, right down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyes somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should feel dizzy.

The hour seemed very long. I couldn’t concentrate on the movie — I didn’t even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in his body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance in his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my stiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me.

“Well, that was interesting,” he murmured. His voice was dark and his eyes were cautious.  
“Umm,” was all I was able to respond.  
“Shall we?” he asked, rising fluidly.

I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned to say goodbye. His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was alarmingly warm — like I’d been burned, but didn’t feel the pain of it yet.

He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were other people surrounding me. Reality didn’t fully set in until I was handed a racket. It wasn’t heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams.  
Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike’s chivalry still survived; he came to stand beside me.

“Do you want to be a team?”

“Thanks, Mike — you don’t have to do this, you know.” I grimaced apologetically.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of your way.” He grinned. Sometimes it was so easy to be friends with Mike.

It didn’t go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mikes shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was a beast. He absolutely dominated Ben and Leann singlehandedly, winning all four games. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

“So,” he said as we walked off the court.

“So what?”

“You and Edward Cullen, huh?” he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling of affection disappeared. I had a sneaking suspicion his display of athletic prowess today was some sort of power play, which was ridiculous. 

And pointless. I was already committed to Edward. Had been since the beginning, I just was trying to fight it because of how crazy he makes me feel. Any attraction I had towards Mike for his chivalry, athleticism and well developed chest was strictly objective now. I suddenly remembered Mike making a big show out of stripping off his shirt today, definitely showing off. I also remembered that I had never actually addressed Mike’s infatuation with me, we only discussed his sexuality, and his lack of interest in Jessica.

“That’s none of your business, Mike,” I warned, internally cursing Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

“I don’t like it,” he said anyway.

“And what exactly don’t you like about it?” I said sharply. I was a little surprised at my own reaction.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just… he looks at you like… like you’re something to eat.”

I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle managed to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and fled to the locker room.

I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike already a distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if I should meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a wave of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that they knew that I knew, or not?  
By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries were unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the side of the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to his side, I felt a peculiar sense of release.

“Hi,” I breathed, smiling hugely.

“Hello.” His answering smile was brilliant. “How was Gym?”

My face fell a tiny bit. “Fine,” I lied.

“Really?” He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly, looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike’s back as he walked away.

“What?” I demanded.

His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. “Newton’s getting on my nerves.”

“You weren’t listening again?” I was horror-struck. All traces of my sudden good humor vanished.

“How’s your head?” he asked innocently.

“You’re unbelievable!” I turned, stomping away in the general direction of the parking lot, though I hadn’t ruled out walking at this point.

He kept up with me easily.

“You were the one who mentioned how I’d never seen you in Gym — it made me curious.” He didn’t sound repentant, so I ignored him.

We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to his car. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys, were surrounding it. Then I realized they weren’t surrounding the Volvo, they were actually circled around Rosalie’s red convertible, unmistakable lust in their eyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open his door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.

“Ostentatious,” he muttered. 

“What kind of car is that?” I asked. 

“An M3.”

“I don’t speak Car and Driver.”

“It’s a BMW.” He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out without running over the car enthusiasts.

I nodded — I’d heard of that one.

“Are you still angry?” he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out.  
“Definitely.”

He sighed. “Will you forgive me if I apologize?” 

“Maybe… if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again,” I insisted.

His eyes were suddenly shrewd. “How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive Saturday?” he countered my conditions.

I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get. “Deal,” I agreed.

“Then I’m very sorry I upset you.” His eyes burned with sincerity for a protracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and then turned playful. “And I’ll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning.”

“Um, it doesn’t help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway.”

His smile was condescending now. “I wasn’t intending to bring a car.”

“How —”

He cut me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there, no car.”

I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

“Is it later yet?” I asked significantly.

He frowned. “I suppose it is later.”

I kept my expression polite as I waited.

He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already at Charlie’s house, parked at the end of the driveway. It was easier to ride with him if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he was staring at me, measuring with his eyes.

“And you still want to know why you can’t see me hunt?” He seemed solemn, but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes.

“Well,” I clarified, “I was mostly wondering about your reaction.”

“Did I frighten you?” Yes, there was definitely humor there.

“No,” I lied. He didn’t buy it.

“I apologize for scaring you,” he persisted with a slight smile, but then all evidence of teasing disappeared. “It was just the very thought of you being there… while we hunted.” His jaw tightened.

“That would be bad?”

He spoke from between clenched teeth. “Extremely.”

“Because…?”

He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick, rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach. Always smoldering.  
Stupid, smoldering vampire.

“When we hunt,” he spoke slowly, unwillingly, “we give ourselves over to our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…” He shook his head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of his eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing away.

But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers of the electricity I’d felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as he gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn’t until my head started to swim that I realized I wasn’t breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes.

“Beau, I think you should go inside now.” His low voice was rough, his eyes on the clouds again.  
I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

“Oh, Beau?” he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned toward the open window with a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow it’s my turn.”

“Your turn to what?”

He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. “Ask the questions.”

And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I walked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, if nothing else.

That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly, waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on a green hooded shirt and a pair of dark, inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of t-shirts and basketball shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

“About this Saturday…,” he began, walking across the kitchen and turning on the faucet.

I cringed. “Yes, Dad?”

“Are you still set on going to Seattle?” he asked.

“That was the plan.” I grimaced, wishing he hadn’t brought it up so I wouldn’t have to compose careful half-truths.

He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the brush. “And you’re sure you can’t make it back in time for the dance?”

“I’m not going to the dance, Dad.” I glared.  
“You didn’t… ask anyone? No one asked you?” he pressed, trying to hide his concern by focusing on rinsing the plate

I sidestepped the minefield. “No,” I said simply.

“Oh.” He frowned as he dried his plate.

I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living in fear that your kid would meet someone they liked, but also having to worry if they didn’t. I wonder how he would feel about me going to Seattle with Edward. Would he approve? He spoke highly of the doctor after all

Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver car was already there, waiting in Charlie’s spot on the driveway. I bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me without bothering to lock the deadbolt. I walked to the car, pausing shyly before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed — and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.

“Good morning.” His voice was silky. “How are you today?” His eyes roamed over my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy.

“Good, thank you.” I was always good — much more than good — when I was near him.

His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. “You look tired.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my shoulder to provide some measure of cover.

“Neither could I,” he teased as he started the engine. I was becoming used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me, whenever I got to drive it again.

I laughed. “I guess that’s right. I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”

“I’d wager you did.”

“So what did you do last night?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Not a chance. It’s my day to ask questions.”

“Oh, that’s right. What do you want to know?” My forehead creased. I couldn’t imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting to him.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked, his face grave.

I rolled my eyes. “It changes from day to day.” 

“What’s your favorite color today?” He was still solemn.

“Well, not green.”

He snorted, dropping his serious expression. “That’s a rather specific answer. What do you have against green?”

“I used to like green, there was so little of it in Phoenix, but, here it’s green everywhere, the rocks, the trees. I’m sick of it.”

He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment, staring into my eyes.

“You’re right,” he decided, serious again. “There is a little too much green here.” He reached over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to tuck some hair behind my ear.

We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into a parking space.

“What music is in your CD player right now?” he asked, his face as somber as if he’d asked for a murder confession.

I realized I’d never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said the name of the band, he smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes. He flipped open a compartment under his car’s CD player, pulled out one of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it to me.

“Debussy to this?” He raised an eyebrow.

It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes down.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me to English, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, he questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my existence. Movies I’d liked and hated, the few places I’d been and the many places I wanted to go, and books — endless questions about books.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked so much. More often than not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But the absolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream of questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly his questions were easy, only a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought on a whole new round of questions.

Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out padparadscha before thinking. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite gemstone was morganite. I could never pick a  
favorite gemstone, I liked so many. I then commented that I had recently become fond of topaz. He’d been flinging questions at me with such speed that I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would have continued down whatever mental list he was following, except for the blush. It was impossible, while staring back into his topaz eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he wouldn’t rest until I’d admitted why I was embarrassed.

“Tell me,” he finally commanded after persuasion failed—failed only because I kept my eyes safely away from his face.

“It’s the color of your eyes today,” I sighed, surrendering, staring down at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. “I suppose if you asked me in two weeks I’d say onyx.” I’d given more information than necessary in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I was.

But his pause was very short.

“What kinds of flowers do you prefer?” he fired off.

“Gardenia’s, they’re wonderfully aromatic. I also prefer white roses over red ones, and I’m a big fan of rhododendron.”

“. . .That’s probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say since we met. That, or the comment about barebacking.”

I laughed loudly, and continued with the psychoanalysis.

Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzing up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slide his chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn’t help. As soon as the room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his cold skin, as yesterday.

I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my hidden fingers gripping the table’s edge as I fought to ignore the irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn’t look at him, afraid that if he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour I had no idea what I’d just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr. Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was looking at me, his eyes ambivalent.

He rose quietly and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touched my face wordlessly — this time with the back of his cool hand, stroking once from my temple to my jaw — before he turned and walked away.

Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike’s one-man badminton show. He didn’t speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because he was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn’t concentrate on him.

I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved, the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy than usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release when I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading across my face. He smiled in reaction before launching into more cross-examination.  
His questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. He wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything he wasn’t familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie’s house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge.

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote — bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant — the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me — to justify a beauty that didn’t depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to him.

His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, he paused instead of responding with another question.

“Are you finished?” I asked in relief.

“Not even close — but your father will be home soon.”

“Charlie!” I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. “How late is it?” I wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time — Charlie would be driving home now.

“It’s twilight,” Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the windshield.

I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

“It’s the safest time of day for us,” he said, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. “The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way… the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don’t you think?” He smiled wistfully.

“I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.” I frowned. “Not that you see them here much.”

He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

“Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you’ll be with me Saturday…” He raised one eyebrow.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from sitting still so long. “So is it my turn tomorrow, then?”

“Certainly not!” His face was teasingly outraged. “I told you I wasn’t done, didn’t I?”

“What more is there?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.” He reached across to open my door for me, and his sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.

But his hand froze on the handle.

“Not good,” he muttered.

“What is it?” I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyes disturbed.

He glanced at me for a brief second. “Another complication,” he said glumly.

He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost cringed, swiftly away from me.

The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

“Charlie’s around the corner,” he warned, staring through the downpour at the other vehicle.

I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was louder as it glanced off my jacket.

I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it was training too heavily. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the new car’s headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked on something or someone I couldn’t see. His expression was a strange mix of frustration and defiance.

Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

“Hey, Beau,” called a familiar, husky voice from the driver’s side of the little black car.

“Jacob?” I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie’s cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of the car in front of me.

Jacob was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with a memorable face — a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face they were set in. Jacob’s father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately, though in the more than five years since I’d seen him last I’d managed to forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His eyes were wide, as if in shock or anger, his nostrils flared. My smile faded.

Another complication, Edward had said.

Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned internally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Billy’s eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't know how long I struggled to pick what I wanted Beau's favorite gem and flower to be, I ended up going with some of my own that fit with the story and his character. I'm such a dweeb...
> 
> Also, does anyone knwo of, or is planning to write a long, high-quality Peeta Mellark gay fanfic? I love him as a gay character, but there are not very many fics with him as the main character, who is gay and in a pairing with either Cato, Finnick, or Gale on AO3. All the good ones I've read. I've also searched on fanfiction.net (which I consider to be inferior to Ao3, but I'm willing to read a work from there). I've considered just writing one on my own, but I'm busy with this, and It's not the same :( Please comment if you know of any good ones or were planning to write one yourself. Thak you, and sorry for interrupting your regularly scheduled program of Twilight with The Hunger Games.


	12. Balancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It continues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, I've been really busy, and also lazy.
> 
> Now I don't want the woke mob coming after me, so I figured I'd add this potential TW: Brief drug misuse.

“Billy!” Charlie called as soon as he was out of the squad car.

I turned toward the house, beckoning to Jacob as I ducked under the porch. I heard Charlie greeting them loudly behind me.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you behind the wheel, Jake,” he said disapprovingly.

“We get permits early on the rez,” Jacob said while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light.

“Sure you do,” Charlie laughed.

“I have to get around somehow.” I recognized Billy’s resonant voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, a child.

I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously as Charlie and Jacob helped Billy out of the car and into his wheelchair. 

I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the rain.

“This is a surprise,” Charlie was saying.

“It’s been too long,” Billy answered. “I hope it’s not a bad time.” His dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.

“No, it’s great. I hope you can stay for the game.” 

Jacob grinned. “I think that’s the plan — our TV broke last week.”

Billy turned to smirk at his son. “And, of course, Jacob was anxious to see Beau again,” he added. Jacob scowled and ducked his head while I fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe I’d been too convincing on the beach.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to escape Billy’s searching gaze.  
“Nah, we ate just before we came,” Jacob answered.

“How about you, Cha...Dad?” I called over my shoulder as I fled around the corner.

“Sure,” he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Billy’s chair follow.

The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.

“So, how are things?” Jacob asked.  
“Pretty good.” I smiled. His sincerity was hard to resist. “How about you? Did you finish your car?”  
“No.” He frowned. “I still need parts. We borrowed that one.” He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the front yard.  
“Sorry. I haven’t seen any… what was it you were looking for?”  
“Master cylinder.” He grinned. “Is something wrong with the truck?” he added suddenly.  
“No.”  
“Oh. I just wondered because you weren’t driving it.”

I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check the bottom side. “I got a ride with a friend.”

“Nice ride.” Jacob’s voice was admiring. “I didn’t recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here.”

I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches.

“My dad seemed to know him from somewhere.”

“Jacob, could you hand me some plates? They’re in the cupboard over the sink.”

“Sure.”

He got the plates in silence. I hoped he would let it drop now.

“So who was it?” he asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me.

I sighed in defeat. “Edward Cullen.”

To my surprise, he laughed. I glanced up at him. He looked a little embarrassed.

“Guess that explains it, then,” he said. “I wondered why my dad was acting so strange.”

“That’s right.” I faked an innocent expression. “He doesn’t like the Cullens.”

“Superstitious old man,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“You don’t think he’d say anything to Charlie?” I couldn’t help asking, the words coming out in a low rush.

Jacob stared at me for a moment, and I couldn’t read the expression in his dark eyes. “I doubt it,” he finally answered. “I think Charlie chewed him out pretty good last time. They haven’t spoken much   
since — tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don’t think he’d bring it up again.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to sound indifferent.

I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Charlie, pretending to watch the game while Jacob chattered at me. I was really listening to the men’s conversation, watching for any sign that Billy was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop him if he began.

It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Billy alone with Charlie. Finally, the game ended.

“Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?” Jacob asked as he pushed his father over the lip of the threshold.

“I’m not sure,” I hedged.

“That was fun, Charlie,” Billy said.

“Come up for the next game,” Charlie encouraged.

“Sure, sure,” Billy said. “We’ll be here. Have a good night.” His eyes shifted to mine, and his smile disappeared. “You take care, Beau,” he added seriously.

“Thanks,” I muttered, looking away.

I headed for the stairs while Charlie waved from the doorway.

“Wait, Beau,” he said.

I cringed. Had Billy gotten something in before I’d joined them in the living room?

But Charlie was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?”

“Good.” I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, searching for details I could safely share. “My badminton team won all four games.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could play badminton.”

“Well, actually I can’t, but my partner is a beast,” I admitted.

“Who is it?” he asked with token interest.

“Um… Mike Newton,” I told him reluctantly.

“Oh yeah — you said you were friends with the Newton kid. Nice family. Handsome fellow." He mused for a minute. “Why didn’t you ask him to the dance this Friday? Why wouldn’t he ask you?”

“Dad!” I groaned. “I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.” I lied. “Besides, you know I can’t dance.”

“Oh yeah,” he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. “So I guess it’s good you’ll be gone Saturday… I’ve made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather’s supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I’d stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much.”

“Dad, you’re doing a great job.” I smiled, hoping my relief didn’t show. “I’ve never minded being alone — I’m too much like you.” I winked at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile.

I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, my mood was blissful. The tense evening with Billy and Jacob seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling as I skipped down the stairs. Charlie noticed.

“You’re cheerful this morning,” he commented over breakfast.

I shrugged. “It’s Friday.”

I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my bag ready, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Edward was faster. He was waiting in his shiny car, windows down, engine off.

I didn’t hesitate this time, climbing in the passenger side quickly, the sooner to see his face. He grinned his crooked smile at me, stopping my breath and my heart. I couldn’t imagine how an angel could be any more glorious. There was nothing about him that could be improved upon.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. I wondered if he had any idea how appealing his voice was.

“Fine. How was your night?”

“Pleasant.” His smile was amused; I felt like I was missing an inside joke.

“Can I ask what you did?” I asked.

“No.” He grinned. “Today is still mine.”

He wanted to know about people today: more about Renée, her hobbies, what we’d done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I’d known, my few school friends — embarrassing me when he asked about boys I’d dated. I was relieved that I’d never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn’t last long. He seemed as surprised as Jeremy and Allen by my lack of romantic history.

“So you never met anyone you wanted?” he asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what he was thinking about.

I was grudgingly honest. “Not in Phoenix.”

His lips pressed together into a hard line.

We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the blur that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of his brief pause to take a bite of my bagel.

“I should have let you drive yourself today,” he announced, apropos of nothing, while I chewed.

“Why?” I demanded.

“I’m leaving with Alice after lunch.”

“Oh.” I blinked, bewildered and disappointed. “That’s okay, it’s not that far of a walk.”

He frowned at me impatiently. “I’m not going to make you walk home. We’ll go get your truck and leave it here for you.”

“I don’t have my key with me,” I sighed. “I really don’t mind walking.” What I minded was losing my time with him.

He shook his head. “Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition — unless you’re afraid someone might steal it.” He laughed at the thought.

“All right,” I agreed, pursing my lips. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if he broke into my house, or whatever he was planning, he’d never find it. He seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. He smirked, overconfident.

“So where are you going?” I asked as casually as I could manage.

“Hunting,” he answered grimly. “If I’m going to be alone with you tomorrow, I’m going to take whatever precautions I can.” His face grew morose… and pleading. “You can always cancel, you know.”

I looked down, afraid of the persuasive power of his eyes. I refused to be convinced to fear him, no matter how real the danger might be. It doesn’t matter, I repeated in my head.

“No,” I whispered, glancing back at his face. “I can’t.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured bleakly. His eyes seemed to darken in color as I watched.

I changed the subject. “What time will I see you tomorrow?” I asked, already depressed by the thought of him leaving now.

“That depends… it’s a Saturday, don’t you want to sleep in?” he offered.

“No,” I answered too fast. He restrained a smile.

“The same time as usual, then,” he decided. “Will Charlie be there?”

“No, he’s fishing tomorrow.” I beamed at the memory of how conveniently things had worked out.

His voice turned sharp. “And if you don’t come home, what will he think?”

“I have no idea,” I answered coolly. “He knows I’ve been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he’ll think I fell in the washer.”

He scowled at me and I scowled back. His anger was much more impressive than mine.

“What are you hunting tonight?” I asked when I was sure I had lost the glowering contest.

“Whatever we find in the park. We aren’t going far.” He seemed bemused by my casual reference to his secret realities.

“Why are you going with Alice?” I wondered.

“Alice is the most… supportive.” He frowned as he spoke.

“And the others?” I asked timidly. “What are they?”

His brow puckered for a brief moment. “Incredulous, for the most part.”

I peeked quickly behind me at his family. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I’d seen them. Only now they were four; their beautiful, bronze-haired brother sat across from me, his golden eyes troubled.

“They don’t like me,” I guessed.

“That’s not it,” he disagreed, but his eyes were too innocent. “They don’t understand why I can’t leave you alone.”

I grimaced. “Neither do I, for that matter.”

Edward shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling before he met my gaze again. “I told you — you don’t see yourself clearly at all. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known. You fascinate me.”

I glared at him, sure he was teasing now.

He smiled as he deciphered my expression. “Having the advantages I do,” he murmured, touching his forehead discreetly, “I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you… you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise.”

I looked away, my eyes wandering back to his family, embarrassed and dissatisfied. His words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.

“That part is easy enough to explain,” he continued. I felt his eyes on my face but I couldn’t look at him yet, afraid he might read the chagrin in my eyes. “But there’s more… and it’s not so easy to put into words —”

I was still staring at the Cullens while he spoke. Suddenly Rosalie, his blond and breathtaking sister, turned to look at me. No, not to look — to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but her gaze held me until Edward broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under his breath. It was almost a hiss.

Rosalie turned her head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Edward — and I knew he could see the confusion and fear that widened my eyes.

His face was tight as he explained. “I’m sorry about that. She’s just worried. You see… it’s dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…” He looked down.

“If?”

“If this ends… badly.” He dropped his head into his hands, as he had that night in Port Angeles. His anguish was plain; I yearned to comfort him, but I was at a loss to know how. My hand reached toward him involuntarily; quickly, though, I dropped it to the table, fearing that my touch would only make things worse. I realized slowly that his words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for his pain.

And frustration — frustration that Rosalie had interrupted whatever he was about to say. I didn’t know how to bring it up again. He still had his head in his hands.

I tried to speak in a normal voice. “And you have to leave now?”

“Yes.” He raised his face; it was serious for a moment, and then his mood shifted and he smiled. “It’s probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology — I don’t think I could take any more.”

I started. Alice — her short, inky hair in a halo of spiky disarray around her exquisite, elfin face — was suddenly standing behind his shoulder. Her slight frame was willowy, graceful even in absolute stillness.

He greeted her without looking away from me. “Alice.”

“Edward,” he answered, her high soprano voice almost as attractive as his.

“Alice, Beau — Beau, Alice,” Edward introduced us, gesturing casually with his hand, a wry smile on his face.

“Hello, Beau.” Her brilliant obsidian eyes were unreadable, but her smile was friendly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Edward flashed a dark look at her.

“Hi, Alice,” I murmured shyly.

“Are you ready?” he asked Edward.

Edward’s voice was aloof. “Nearly. I’ll meet you at the car.”

She left without another word; her walk was so fluid, so sinuous that I felt a sharp pang of jealousy.

“Should I say ‘have fun,’ or is that the wrong sentiment?” I asked, turning back to Edward.

“No, ‘have fun’ works as well as anything.” He grinned.

“Have fun, then.” I worked to sound wholehearted. Of course I didn’t fool him.

“I’ll try.” He still grinned. “And you try to be safe, please.”

“Safe in Forks—what a challenge.”

“For you it is a challenge.” His jaw hardened. “Promise.”

“I promise to try to be safe,” I recited. “I’ll do the laundry tonight—that ought to be fraught with peril.”

“Don’t fall in,” he mocked.

“I’ll do my best.”

He stood then, and I rose, too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I sighed.

“It seems like a long time to you, doesn’t it?” he mused.

I nodded glumly.

“I’ll be there in the morning,” he promised, smiling his crooked smile. He reached across the table to touch my face, lightly brushing along my cheekbone again. Then he turned and walked away. I stared   
after him until he was gone.

I was sorely tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped me. I knew that if I disappeared now, Mike and the others would assume I was with Edward. And   
Edward was worried about the time we’d spent together publicly… if things went wrong. I refused to dwell on the last thought, concentrating instead on making things safer for him.

I intuitively knew — and sensed he did, too — that tomorrow would be pivotal. Our relationship couldn’t continue to balance, as it did, on the point of a knife. We would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon his decision, or his instincts. My decision was made, made before I’d ever consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing it through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from him. It was an impossibility.

I went to class, feeling dutiful. I couldn’t honestly say what happened in Biology; my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow. In Gym, Mike was speaking to me again, and he continued to dominate our fellow classmates. I was pretty sure he was trying to show off for me. A last ditch effort to pry me away from Edward. It didn’t work. He wished me a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I’d canceled my trip, worried about my truck.

“Are you going to the dance with him?” he asked, suddenly sulky.  
“No, I’m not going to the dance at all.”  
“What are you doing, then?” he asked, too interested.

My natural urge was to tell him to butt out. Instead, I lied brightly.

“Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test or I’m going to fail.”  
“Is he helping you study?”  
“Edward,” I emphasized, “is not going to help me study. He’s gone away somewhere for the weekend.” The lies came more naturally than usual, I noted with surprise.  
“Oh.” He perked up. “You know, you could come to the dance with our group anyway—that would be cool. We’d all dance with you,” he promised.

The mental image of Jessica’s face made my tone sharper than necessary.

“I’m not going to the dance, Mike, okay?”  
“Fine.” He sulked again. “I was just offering.”

When the school day had finally ended, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I did not especially want to walk home, but I couldn’t see how he would have retrieved my truck. Then again, I was starting to believe that nothing was impossible for him. The latter instinct proved correct — my truck sat in the same space he’d parked his Volvo in this morning. I shook my head, incredulous, as I opened the unlocked door and saw the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I unfolded it. Two words were written in his elegant script.

Be safe.

The sound of the truck roaring to life frightened me. I laughed at myself.

When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the dead bolt unlocked, just as I’d left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I’d left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I’d hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head.

Following the same instinct that had prompted me to lie to Mike, I called Jessica on the pretense of wishing her luck at the dance. When she offered the same wish for my day with Edward, I told her about the cancellation. She was more disappointed than really necessary for a third-party observer to be. I said goodbye quickly after that.

Charlie was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying the lasagna — it was hard to tell with Charlie.

“You know, Dad…,” I began, breaking into his reverie.

“What’s that, Beau?”

“I think you’re right about Seattle. I think I’ll wait until Jessica or someone else can go with me.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?”

“No, Dad, don’t change your plans. I’ve got a million things to do… homework, laundry… I need to go to the library and the grocery store. I’ll be in and out all day… you go and have fun.”  
“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish—we’re down to a two, maybe three years’ supply.”

“You’re sure easy to live with, Beau.” He smiled.

“I could say the same thing about you,” I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was off, but he didn’t seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him that I almost took Edward’s advice and told him where I would be. Almost.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately it was the kind of job that only keeps hands busy. My mind definitely had too much free time, and it was getting out of control. I fluctuated between anticipation so intense that it was very nearly pain, and an insidious fear that picked at my resolve. I had to keep reminding myself that I’d made my choice, and I wasn’t going back on it. I pulled his note out of my pocket much more often than necessary to absorb the two small words he’d written. He wants me to be safe, I told myself again and again. I would just hold on to the faith that, in the end, that desire would win out over the others. And what was my other choice — to cut him out of my life? Intolerable. Besides, since I’d come to Forks, it really seemed like my life was about him.

But a tiny voice in the back of my mind worried, wondering if it would hurt very much… if it ended badly.

I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I’d never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine — the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn’t condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, fussed over what I would wear tomorrow, despite my usual disinterest in clothes.  
With everything ready for the morning, I finally lay in my bed. I felt hyper; I couldn’t stop twitching. I got up and rifled through my shoebox of CDs until I found a collection of Chopin’s nocturnes. I put that on very quietly and then lay down again, concentrating on relaxing individual parts of my body. Somewhere in the middle of that exercise, the cold pills took effect, and I gladly sank into unconsciousness.

I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to my gratuitous drug use. Though I was well rested, I slipped right back into the same hectic frenzy from the night before. I dressed in a rush, smoothing my collar against my neck, fidgeting with the tan sweater till it hung right over my jeans. I sneaked a swift look out the window to see that Charlie was already gone. A thin, cottony layer of clouds veiled the sky. They didn’t look very lasting.

I ate my breakfast — oatmeal — quickly, hurrying to clean up when I was done. I peeked out the window again, but nothing had changed. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was heading back downstairs when a quiet knock sent my heart thudding against my rib cage.

I flew to the door; I had a little trouble with the simple deadbolt, but I yanked the door open at last, and there he was. All the agitation dissolved as soon as I looked at his face, calm taking its place. I breathed a sigh of relief — yesterday’s fears seemed very foolish with him here.

He wasn’t smiling at first — his face was somber. But then his expression lightened as he looked me over, and he laughed.

“Good morning,” he chuckled.

“What’s wrong?” I glanced down to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants.

“We match.” He laughed again. I realized he had a long, light tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath, and blue jeans. I laughed with him, hiding a secret twinge of regret—why did he have to look like a runway model when I couldn’t?

I locked the door behind me while he walked to the truck. I unapologetically stared at his firm, callipygian ass as I followed. He waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to understand.

“We made a deal,” I reminded him smugly, climbing into the driver’s seat, and reaching over to unlock his door.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Put your seat belt on — I’m nervous already.”

I gave him a dirty look as I complied.

“Where to?” I repeated with a sigh.

“Take the one-oh-one north,” he ordered.

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling his gaze on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

“Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?”

“This truck is old enough to be your car’s grandfather — show some respect,” I retorted.

We were soon out of the town limits, despite his negativity. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replaced the lawns and houses.

“Turn right on the one-ten,” he instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently.

“Now we drive until the pavement ends.”

I could hear a smile in his voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving him right to look over and be sure.

“And what’s there, at the pavement’s end?” I wondered.

“A trail.”

“We’re hiking?” Thank goodness I’d worn tennis shoes.

“Is that a problem?” He sounded as if he’d expected as much.

“No.” I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if he thought my truck was slow…

“Don’t worry, it’s only five miles or so, and we’re in no hurry.”

Five miles. I didn’t answer, so that he wouldn’t hear my voice crack in panic. Five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to twist my ankles or otherwise incapacitate me. This was going to be humiliating.

We drove in silence for a while as I contemplated the coming horror.

“What are you thinking?” he asked impatiently after a few moments.

I lied again. “Just wondering where we’re going.”

“It’s a place I like to go when the weather is nice.” We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds after he spoke.

“Charlie said it would be warm today.”

“And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“But Jessica thinks we’re going to Seattle together?” He seemed cheered by the idea.

“No, I told him you canceled on me — which is true.”

“No one knows you’re with me?” Angrily, now.

“That depends… I assume you told Alice?”

“That’s very helpful, Beau,” he snapped.

I pretended I didn’t hear that.

“Are you so depressed by Forks that it’s made you suicidal?” he demanded when I ignored him.

“You said it might cause trouble for you… us being together publicly,” I reminded him.

“So you’re worried about the trouble it might cause me — if you don’t come home?” His voice was still angry, and bitingly sarcastic.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.

He muttered something under his breath, speaking so quickly that I couldn’t understand.

We were silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of infuriated disapproval rolling off of him, and I could think of nothing to say.  
And then the road ended, constricting to a thin foot trail with a small wooden marker. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, afraid because he was angry with me and I didn’t have driving as an excuse not to look at him. It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I’d arrived, almost muggy under the clouds. I pulled off my sweater and knotted it around my waist, glad that I’d worn the light, short-sleeved shirt — especially if I had five miles of hiking ahead of me.

I heard his door slam, and looked over to see that he’d removed his sweater, too. He was facing away from me, into the unbroken forest beside my truck.

“This way,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me, eyes still annoyed. He started into the dark forest.

“The trail?” Panic was clear in my voice as I hurried around the truck to catch up to him.

“I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it.”

“No trail?” I asked desperately.

“I won’t let you get lost.” He turned then, with a mocking smile, and I stifled a gasp. His white shirt was sleeveless, and he wore it unbuttoned, so that the smooth white skin of his throat flowed uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest, his perfect musculature no longer merely hinted at behind concealing clothes. He was too perfect, I realized with a piercing stab of despair. There was   
no way this godlike creature could be meant for me.

He stared at me, bewildered by my tortured expression.  
“Do you want to go home?” he said quietly, a different pain than mine saturating his voice.

“No.” I walked forward till I was close beside him, anxious not to waste one second of whatever time I might have with him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I’m not a good hiker,” I answered dully. “You’ll have to be very patient.”

“I can be patient — if I make a great effort.” He smiled, holding my glance, trying to lift me out of my sudden, unexplained dejection.

I tried to smile back, but the smile was unconvincing. He scrutinized my face.

“I’ll take you home,” he promised. I couldn’t tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. I knew he thought it was fear that upset me, and I was grateful again that I was the one person whose mind he couldn’t hear.

“If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you’d better start leading the way,” I said acidly. He frowned at me, struggling to understand my tone and expression.  
He gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.

It wasn’t as hard as I had feared. The way was mostly flat, and he held the damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me. When his straight path took us over fallen trees or boulders, he would help me, lifting me by the elbow, and then releasing me instantly when I was clear. His cold touch on my skin never failed to make my heart thud erratically. Twice, when that happened, I caught a look on his face that made me sure he could somehow hear it.

I tried to keep my eyes away from his perfection as much as possible, but I slipped often. Each time, his beauty pierced me through with sadness.

For the most part, we walked in silence. Occasionally he would ask a random question that he hadn’t gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. He asked about my birthdays, my grade school teachers, my childhood pets — and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I’d given up on the whole institution. He laughed at that, louder than I was used to — bell-like echoes bouncing back to us from the empty woods.

The hike took me most of the morning, but he never showed any sign of impatience. The forest spread out around us in a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I began to be nervous that we would never find our way out again. He was perfectly at ease, comfortable in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction.

After several hours, the light that filtered through the canopy transformed, the murky olive tone shifting to a brighter jade. The day had turned sunny, just as he’d foretold. For the first time since we’d   
entered the woods, I felt a thrill of excitement — which quickly turned to impatience.

“Are we there yet?” I teased, pretending to scowl.

“Nearly.” He smiled at the change in my mood. “Do you see the brightness ahead?”

I peered into the thick forest. “Um, should I?”

He smirked. “Maybe it’s a bit soon for your eyes.”

“Time to visit the optometrist,” I muttered. His smirk grew more pronounced.

But then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow instead of green. I picked up the pace, my eagerness growing with every step. He let me lead now, following noiselessly.

I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers—violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly, awestruck, through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. I halfway turned, wanting to share this with him, but he wasn’t behind me where I thought he’d be. I spun around, searching for him with sudden alarm. Finally I spotted him, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes. Only then did I remember what the beauty of the meadow had driven from my mind—the enigma of Edward and the sun, which he’d promised to illustrate for me today.

I took a step back toward him, my eyes alight with curiosity. His eyes were wary, reluctant. I smiled encouragingly and beckoned to him with my hand, taking another step back to him. He held up a hand in warning, and I hesitated, rocking back onto my heels.

Edward seemed to take a deep breath, quickly took of his shirt, exposing his flawless upper body, and then he stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I really hope you enjoyed. I'm super dedicated to writing this, it just feels more up my alley than Teen Wolf. Please comment what you think, and let me know if there are any mistakes please. Love Trixie.


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